Rose Amongst Thorns
by mellowenglishgal
Summary: What if it hadn't been her choice to move into the McGowan house-what if Rosalie had been forced to leave her home and her best friend in North Carolina, bereaved and lonely, and it was more than a shared kiss between her and Finn that Regina witnessed?
1. Rosalie Helena Meade

**A.N.**: A retelling of the book we all seem to love! If it _hadn't_ been Megan's choice to move in with the McGowans.

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**Rose Amongst Thorns**

Chapter One

_Rosalie Helena Meade_

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Making Rose drive her truck from Raleigh to Boston was probably one of the best things Regina McGowan could have done to boost the quiet girl's confidence in her own driving. The truck was a 1984 Chevy Silverado, big and dirty, with a low rumble, and tuned up tight by Rose's own pretty hands.

Regina had always suspected Tim Meade had overlooked completely the fact that Rose was in fact a girl, and a_ very_ pretty one at that, to compensate for having no sons; Rose was quiet and very shy, as she had been as a baby, and very polite. In the last week, Regina didn't think she'd ever heard Rose be rude, even when she was tired and upset; the girl was very sweet, and very shy, and Regina feared she would be completely swallowed up into the madhouse that was her family of seven sons. But making Rose drive from Raleigh had given her a much surer sense of her own driving abilities.

And they had actually had _fun_ driving back, having taken most of the weekend to drive up to Boston; Rose's beloved truck had been fitted with a new stereo system for her birthday from her dad, and they had hooked up her iPod and put on all Regina's favourite 80s music, made frequent stops at 7/11 for Slurpees and Dairy Queen for ice-cream sundaes and Sonic for chilli-cheese tater-tots.

Regina had reintroduced Rose to Meadowlark Dairy, the drive-thru dairy downtown, and which Rose had always loved walking to as a kid, for the enormous chocolate-vanilla swirl ice-creams, and they both sat licking melting ice-creams as Rose directed the truck into the sweeping driveway up to Regina's home.

Regina hadn't had time to herself for almost twenty years—since she had found out she was pregnant with Sean, really. Having spent a week with Rose and _only_ with Rose, as a sort of morbid vacation, it was a little strange to think of the mayhem that awaited her, but she couldn't deny that she had missed her babies. It had been strange not having Caleb barrel into her bedroom at six a.m. wanting breakfast, or shouting through Doug's bedroom door at midnight to turn his music down, or mediating the squabbles between Caleb and Ian, and making sure Evan and Sean watched their language, and _cooking_. She and Rose had dined out almost every meal, though Regina knew from Lily's phone-calls that Rose, the sweetest girl in the world, cooked for her parents so dinner was on the table when her father got home from work.

Her boys knew to expect her and Rose this afternoon, if the traffic wasn't bad—which it hadn't been—and she smiled affectionately, her heart warming, at the sight of her family playing their traditional Sunday-afternoon game of ultimate Frisbee—though why the boys insisted on playing shirts-and-skins, she didn't know! She cast a sidelong glance at Rose, wondering how she would react to seeing her older boys in only their shorts. The truck had slowed, but instead of her eyes zooming to the muscular torsos of Sean and Evan, Rose's exquisite, warm sapphire-grey eyes were trained on Caleb, who was darting around the sweeping green lawn like a lunatic. Careful not to run over Regina's youngest son, Rose drew the truck up near the barn, outside which Evan's Saab and Regina's minivan were parked.

"And remember what I said about the boys," Regina smiled encouragingly. "They promised me they'd be on their _best_ behaviour. Just be yourself, and I'm sure they'll all love you." Rose cut the engine and nodded; she was a very quiet girl, intensely shy, and unrelentingly sweet. Regina hoped with all her heart that she wasn't too overwhelmed by her boys. "Alright, come and meet them." Regina slipped out of the truck, glad to stretch her legs, and her boys abandoned their game of ultimate Frisbee to launch themselves across the lawn toward her.

In seconds, Regina was laughing and accepting hugs from her sweaty, grinning boys, Caleb tackling her knees and all of the boys clamouring for her attention; John swept through them, creating a path which Caleb followed closely to get to her, and greeted her. John looked tired, but happy, and no matter what had happened in the week she had been helping Rosie, she knew John was more than capable of handling their horde—and that she would hear every single detail of their sons' indiscretions later tonight after John begged her never to leave him alone with their seven boys _ever_ again.

Over at the back-end of Rose's truck, Evan had decided to be a gentleman—for probably the first and only time in his life—and was helping Rose lift out her heaviest suitcase and the box she had stuffed with books; she and Sean would have a lot to talk about, if they weren't both so shy of strangers. Regina watched from the corner of her eye as Evan smiled that charming smile of his at Rose, the way warmth spread into her pretty, high cheekbones, and then she looked simply stunned, and Evan's handsome laugh lingered on the lawn like dew at dawn.

The truck-bed door slammed, and all eyes turned to Rosalie, who stood small and very slim, tiny compared to her truck. If Regina hadn't known what kind of a girl Rosalie was—shy, quiet, sweet—she might have worried about her behaviour toward her older boys; Evan and Finn were very handsome boys. They took after their father. She _was_ worried about how her boys would treat Rosalie, because she was a _very_ pretty girl. With slender limbs and delicate curves, she had long, toned legs, and showcased them in a pair of denim shorts. She had billows of rich, light-caramel blonde hair that swirled around her delicate, angular face like the beauties of 30s Hollywood, just brushing her shoulders.

Upon all Regina's numerous offspring turning to stare at the low neckline of her broderie anglaise-detailed white top, sweet, shy Rose blushed prettily, high in her cheekbones, the colour of early-June peonies, and averted her eyes embarrassedly. Regina truly hoped for Rosalie's sake that her boys behaved.

"Rosalie Meade!" John gave one of his patented movie-star grins and loped across the remaining distance to Rose, scooping her up into his arms. "It's so good to see you! Wow, well, you've certainly changed. You don't so much look like a starved little chicken anymore."

"That's hardly flattering, John," Regina laughed; Rose smiled embarrassedly, but it was the truth; the last time they had seen Rosalie, she had been nine or ten, and such a delicate little thing that John had feared she would be squished during the boys' rough-play.

"Well, you've grown up," John chuckled, looking Rosalie over. "And very beautifully, too." Regina saw John's expression fall, and she knew he was thinking what she had all week; that Rose looked exactly like her beautiful mother. "You look so much like your mom." Rose made no reply to that, except her eyes saddening. "Is this _your_ truck?"

"Yes, sir," Rose said softly, placing a hand affectionately on the door of the truck. "I helped Daddy build the engine."

Sean made a sharp move, and Regina glanced at her eldest son; he was staring at Rose, his expression re-evaluating. Whatever he had first thought about Rose had been set aside after the realisation that the girl could help build an engine. Rose blushed at the intensity of Sean's scrutinising stare, and John wandered back towards Regina, slipping an arm around her waist and kissing her temple.

* * *

Without John or Regina by her side, Rose felt considerably vulnerable. She had never been an extroverted person, not even when she was a little girl. As a child, she and her family had moved around a lot, and she had become so dependent on her parents for companions in every new place that she found it difficult to make friends. It wasn't her fault; she was just naturally a very shy girl, and moving countries almost every year until she was nine hadn't helped her personal growth. The only friend she had ever had as a child was Medha, the Turkish girl she still visited and exchanged letters with—it was Medha who had taught her Turkish in the first place. Moving to North Carolina when she was nine, she had met Pogue, her next-door neighbour, and the boy who had been her best-friend since the first day she and her parents had moved in. This was the first time in seven years she had ever been away from Pogue—he had always invited her even on family vacations. And since Pogue was the most popular guy at school, he was her self-confident alter-ego and the only person who could ever get her to broaden her horizons by trying to get past her shyness.

And now, dwarfed by her truck as if she was backed against a wall in front of a firing-team, she stood with trembling knees while the seven McGowan boys stared at her. She had been so concerned with not running over the littlest brother—who could be no older than Lucia would now be—that she hadn't really noticed the older boys, until Evan had joined her at the truck-bed, helping her start carrying her things out. She had enough nightmares about the little rogue militia to keep her memories of the McGowan boys alive. But one of them was _extremely_ pretty.

Evan—how had the little grubby-handed, bloody-kneed boy of her youth turned into _that_—was taller than the dark-haired one with the Orange County Choppers logo tattoo, but also shirtless; he had lovely shaggy-blonde hair that was coiffed oh-so perfectly, the kind of perfect shoulder muscles and muscled torso that Abercrombie-model scouts searched the world over for, and incredibly warm brown eyes, a square jaw, straight nose and lips that turned up at the corners with a perpetual smile. He even had a small dimple. His sweat-slick torso was dusted with torn grass and dirt, and his denim shorts sat low on his hips, revealing the V-shape definition of his hipbones that Rose loved on men, and he was carrying her heaviest suitcase like it was nothing.

"Yo, what's _Chibs_ mean?" The Eminem-doppelganger called, eyes on the motorcycle helmet Rose was carrying; she glanced down at it and saw the white lettering on the back of the black helmet blaring in the sunshine. Chibs…

"It's…it's my nickname," Rose said quietly. A Scottish friend of her father's had given her the name, which came from the word 'chib', meant quite literally, 'knife, or scar', only months ago, after a small accident had given her a scar on her back. Eminem's doppelganger didn't look like he could find anything to respond to that, and so asked what it meant. "Um… it's Scots. It means 'scar' or 'knife'."

"Why'd you get _that_ nickname? You knife someone?" he asked.

"No!" Rose gasped, jumping slightly. She licked her lips nervously. "I have a scar…"

"I don't see any." The boy's eyes were intent on her legs, which she realised were bare, her shorts _very_ short. She flushed.

"It's on my back," she said quietly, tweaking the hem of her t-shirt at her back. She hated her scar, and Pogue would never forgive himself for giving it to her, as she had been riding on the back of his motorcycle when they'd had the accident. Pogue had broken his arm, and Rose had thought her dad might kill him—if _Pogue_'s dad didn't get to him first.

"Alright, let's see it," the boy said, more challengingly than interestedly.

"Shut up, you idiot," Evan said, smacking his brother, his cheeks flaming in shame on his brother's behalf. "You're making her nervous."

"Evan! Language!" Regina warned. Rose liked Regina; she was the kind of woman—her mother's high-school best-friend and college sorority-sister—whose commands were always seen through. Though she was tall and fair and very slim for having given birth to seven children, she had the unmistakable aura of authority around her that had allowed her to survive—no, thrive—in a family of eight men.

"Okay, but tell him to quit being such a jerk," Evan replied to Regina, who sighed heavily.

"I can parent on my own, thank you," Regina said tartly, striding over to the bleached-blonde boy, and dealing him a sharp slap around the back of the head. The boy gave a dramatic "_Ow_!" and rubbed the back of his head.

"Well, are you guys gonna introduce yourselves or are you just gonna stand there like a bunch of orang-utans?" movie-star handsome John McGowan asked, nudging one of the boys who had bleached-blonde hair cut very short and defined arms and an incongruous belly, and who shot his father a nasty look, conveying instantly how he felt about Rosalie coming to live with them. Rose felt unkindness roiling off the boy as he turned back to glare at her, his arms folded across his chest. While he might have been good-looking if he had dropped the 'gangsta' look and smiled a little bit, he hadn't, and he stood sucking his teeth and glowering.

The boy who stepped forward was a little taller even than Evan, who had to be about the same height as Pogue, who stood at six-eight and dwarfed her, and just as good-looking. His hair was the warm blonde colour of drowsy sunshine at her favourite beach in North Carolina, wavy, and with a few stubborn curls at the nape of his neck, his left temple and behind his ears, and looked as if he had run his hands through it many times because it stuck away from his face. He had very warm blue-grey eyes, and even from here she could see his eyelashes were the prettiest she had ever seen on a boy. He was very tall, and had had the same athletic build as Evan, though a little slimmer; he had nice broad shoulders and toned arms, which were spattered with dried paint, and _very_ nice hands, which were also caked with dried paint, dirt and strands of torn grass. He wore a black t-shirt that had one word on the front in white, old-fashioned typewriter lettering; _art_.

"Hey, I'm Finn," he said, smiling; his voice was on the soft side, the Boston accent not as noticeable as Regina's or Evan's when he spoke again. "I think you're gonna be in my class. Junior, right?"

"Yeah, that's right," Rose nodded, smiling embarrassedly at the boy. He was just as good-looking as Evan, though thankfully fully-clothed, and he had an easy smile that made her feel at once very much more comfortable, and at the same time all fluttery and bashful.

"Cool," Finn said, with another of his easy smiles; his teeth were very straight, and very white, and made his whole face glow. "Um, you met Evan," he said, gesturing to Evan, who grinned at Rose.

"This is Sean," he said, pointing to the shorter, darker-haired young-man with the Orange County Choppers tattoo, and who wore jeans despite the heat.

"That's Doug," Finn said, pointing out the bleached-blonde kid who had an attitude problem.

"This is Miller," Finn continued, pointing to the only other older boy; he wore his natural blonde hair in a crew-cut and sported a New York Yankees t-shirt with a caricature of someone on the front, Rose didn't know; she wasn't very much interested in baseball. Miller stared at the ground, and only nodded slightly when Finn said his name.

"That's Ian," Finn said, pointing out an endearingly chubby kid who looked about ten or eleven years old, and who had a wicked, taunting grin and an unforgiving cackle.

"Hi _Chibs_," Ian cackled, clutching his stomach as he laughed. Rose experienced déjà vu, remembering the time when Evan had been that little and incorrigibly naughty, hanging her upside-down from the climbing-tree in the backyard with Sean, until her daddy had saved her and promptly whopped them for making her go purple in the face and hysterical with screaming when they wouldn't let her down. She had gotten her revenge playing baseball the next day with all of the boys and their dads; she had grabbed the baseball bat when it came to her turn and sent a softball straight at Evan's nose.

Out of nowhere, the littlest one came running over from his parents, making a random revving noise like an engine, and he ran headfirst into the backs of Finn's knees, laughing when his elder-brother buckled and almost fell before righting himself.

"And this runt is Caleb," Finn said, rumpling Caleb's white-blonde curls affectionately. Caleb scuttled shyly up to Rose, and offered a pudgy little fist, inside which were clenched several little daisies he had picked from the lawn. He touched the tip of his finger to his mouth, smiled shyly, and said, "Hi, Rosie."

He couldn't be more than six or seven, and had the biggest brown eyes she had ever seen, rosy cheeks and most of his milk-teeth still in place. Seeing him made her heart ache painfully, instantly reminded of Lucia, and she accepted the flowers while her nose and throat burned and her eyes threatened to fill with tears. She managed a tremulous smile and leaned down to give one of his rosy cheeks a kiss, and he laughed softly and ran off towards Regina.

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**A.N.**: The mystery of who Lucia is will be revealed, I promise!


	2. Settling In

**A.N.**: Hiya. If you've read this far already, please review!

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**Rose Amongst Thorns**

Chapter Two

_Settling In_

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The boys escorted Rose over the threshold of their home, and they all crowded into the kitchen for ice-cold drinks, most of them cream sodas high in sugar and energy drinks full of food-colouring, and Rose sat quietly, watching the family as they welcomed their mom back, sipping a glass of ice-water at the corner of the huge kitchen table. It was very evident Regina had been missed by her family, though she had been in North Carolina only a week.

The house was just as Rose remembered it, even if the kids weren't; Regina and John were still the most gorgeous couple she had ever seen, besides her parents, and they had definitely handed their classic good-looks down to their sons; girls at their high-school surely didn't stand a chance. The kitchen was huge and drenched with light, and everything was neatly arranged, from the coffee machine down to the mini bottle of Tabasco sauce on the island, the work of Miller, Rose understood, the son who suffered from Asperger's Syndrome, and who evidently adored his mother, standing close beside her where she sat at the island, catching up with her sons while John tended the grill just outside on the patio.

"Well, I think I'd better show you your new room, huh Rose," Regina smiled, glancing over Ian's head, and Rose set down her glass. She managed a shy smile; it was a lot easier to be more open with Regina when she was alone; surrounded by exuberant boys, Rose didn't know where to interject a comment or opinion, and thought it better to stay quiet so she didn't have those curious, persistent eyes on her again. Regina rose from the island, and Rose followed her, Caleb clinging to his mother's hand and staring over his shoulder at her as they climbed the enormous staircase. The McGowan house was an enormous, three-storey building with a proper basement and a refurbished attic, and a converted barn that served as a garage and guest-house.

"I hope you like it," Regina smiled, opening a door off a crowded hallway, which consisted of doors all decorated according to the owner's tastes, and with their names and warnings.

"I'm sure I will," Rose said quietly; she had been brought up by her mother to be polite, and even if she thought it was the most distasteful room in the world, she wouldn't say a word, as she had been imposed on Regina and John, and they were being very generous in inviting her into their home. Regina just smiled, and let Rose enter the bedroom.

The room _was_ gorgeous, and big enough that the queen-sized bed didn't even look imposing; the sanded and varnished floors were covered with a soft cream rug, and the walls were painted a warm beige-gold colour; the right-hand wall was decorated with a large panel of wallpaper of matte gold chrysanthemums set on a chocolate-brown background, and against the right-hand wall was set a low dresser, on which a large blue-and-white ceramic-based lamp stood. The far wall was dominated by the queen-size bed, which was made up with soft pale-gold and cream sheets and a crochet-trimmed woven blanket and a prettily-embroidered and beaded flat bolster; a length of beige-gold on silver polka-dots had been upholstered as a headboard, and the bed was flanked by two antique Louis bedside chests, and on top of which stood two see-through table-lamps. Against the internal wall was set the closet, which featured three frosted-glass sliding-doors that turned on spotlights in the ceiling when opened; a desk was set in front of the closet, facing into the room. The desk was white, with clean lines and a little shelf running above it, decorated with a little bauble-shaped glass lamp and two eclectic coloured-glass vases, and a plastic Missoni-fabric chair. The left-hand wall was dominated mostly by the window, which overlooked the backyard and had direct access to the climbing-tree, which she could easily reach if she climbed out of the window. In the far corner was an antique Louis rattan chaise, the perfect spot to sit in the sunshine and read.

"Wow," Rose breathed, turning in a circle and taking everything in, the metal bench at the end of the bed, the stack of brand-new pretty journal-notebooks and girlish stationery and heart-patterned pencil-case on the desk, the pair of pyjamas folded on the dresser ready for her to wear, all little telltale signs that Regina had put a _lot_ of thought into the fact that Rose would be coming to live with them. Suddenly a thought occurred to Rose; "You didn't redecorate just for me, did you?" She hoped Regina hadn't spent any money on her. She had already done enough in coming to North Carolina to help Rose settle everything, and allowing her to come and live with them.

Regina just laughed. "Honey, I wouldn't have let you even _enter_ this bedroom if it hadn't been completely stripped and redecorated, trust me," she smiled, her blue eyes twinkling. Like Rose's own mother, Regina was blonde and extremely beautiful, even though she had to be at least in her mid-to-late forties, tall and svelte. Caleb giggled softly, half-hiding behind his mother's legs, and Rose couldn't help smile at the sound.

"Well, it's beautiful. Thank you," Rose said earnestly.

"You're quite welcome," Regina smiled. "And don't worry about adding your tastes to the room; the guys have stuffed pinned and tacked and taped all over their walls. Feel free to do the same."

"Oh… Thanks," Rose said, though she knew very well that she wouldn't feel comfortable pinning or taping anything to the walls, freshly-painted as they were, and considering she felt she was more of a guest in the house, contrasting Regina's exclamations that Rose was part of the family, and this was her home now too, and as such she could do her best in aiding the boys in destroying it from the foundations up, as they had been trying for the last nineteen years.

"Well, let's put my boys to some use, huh, and get them to bring your stuff inside," Regina smiled. "That's if Sean hasn't already found those boxes full of your books!"

So the boys—well, the older ones; Sean, Evan and Finn—helped empty the bed of Rose's truck, carrying everything upstairs, while Caleb sat on the chaise in the corner of the room, sucking his thumb and smiling, and ordering his older brothers around as to where everything should be put. Rose hadn't unpacked one small suitcase before John was calling everyone to the patio for dinner, and Caleb grabbed Rose's hand—she ignored how wet his hand was from him sucking his thumb—and tugged her downstairs.

* * *

Dinner was quiet, but good; John was an artist with a grill, and served up steaks, chicken, burgers and ribs, a great feast, along with salads, coleslaw, potato-salad, baked beans, four-bean salad, Greek salad, macaroni, grilled potatoes, and devilled eggs, which were if possible Rose's favourite hors d'oeuvres, beets, corn on the cob, and grilled vegetables, and to Rose it looked like a _lot_ of food, but considering, with the addition of her to the table, that there were _ten_ people all fending for the juiciest burger or most tender piece of steak, the enormous spread was quickly eaten up.

"This all looks really good, John," Rose said, smiling up at the head of the table; she sat between Finn and Doug, which seemed to be her place height-wise in the family, as Miller was in charge of seating arrangements and anything that needed order amongst the chaos of a family of nine.

"Yeah, it's too bad you didn't come to live with us sooner," Finn said, tucking into a mounded plate; in comparison, Rose's own plate, which she had thought heaped, looked insignificant. "We never eat like this."

"That's not true," Regina protested, "I cook all the time." She was shouted down with her sons' laughter. Even John couldn't help throwing his head back and laughing, and amid a table-full of raucously-laughing men, Rose couldn't help smiling; Regina caught her eye and rolled hers, smiling.

"Come on, let's eat," John said, grinning, and he started handing around the dishes mounded with food. "How was the drive, guys? You made really good time getting here."

"It was okay," Rose said, seeing John direct the question at her.

"You drove, didn't you?" John asked, and Rose nodded, a shiver going down her spine; she had _not_ liked driving through some of the places where she had to follow lanes and check signs to turn off the highway, or stop to pay tolls and navigate through strange cities, even buying gas at a strange station had made her feel nervous. But she had done it. With Regina sitting beside her and helping her check signs and directions, chatting freely and easily and singing along with her to vintage 80s pop music, Rose had driven from Raleigh to Boston. A little over seven-hundred miles, and most of their weekend, with many stops at drive-thru restaurants and dairies, but she had done it. It was the farthest she had ever driven by herself by a long-shot, and she had been very nervous about it when Regina proposed the idea.

"Guess you're gonna miss North Carolina, huh," John said, and Rose's shoulders slumped as she nodded. "How long did you live there, I forget."

"Seven years," Rose sighed, letting her lower lip jut out a tiny bit in a pout. "When we moved back from Turkey."

"Oh yeah, that's right!" John smiled. "Do you still talk to that little Turkish friend of yours? What was her name?"

"Medha? Yes—she came to stay with us over Spring Break this year. I stayed with her last summer," Rose smiled; she and Medha still wrote each other letters; Medha in English, Rose in Turkish, to improve their language skills, or keep them fresh as the case was now.

"You've been to Turkey!" Finn raised his eyebrows, his eyes glittering with interest as he passed her the dish of baked beans. Rose took it and doled some out next to her potato salad and Greek salad, and handed the dish to Doug, who looked at it as if it was crawling with termites, and took it with a huge aggravated sigh.

"Er—yes. I lived there from when I was five," Rose said, dusting her hands off as she took some bread from a passing bowl. "Before that we lived in Dubai, and before that, Prague, and I was born in Paris."

"Man!" Finn pouted, looking most put-out. "I've been _dreaming_ of going to Europe for ages."

"Well, it was only because of Daddy's job," Rose explained, blushing. "While we were in that part of the world, my parents thought it would be very wasteful if they didn't take the opportunity to travel around Europe and stuff."

"Did you go back to Europe recently? I mean, you said you'd been to Turkey…" Finn said. Obviously, travelling seemed to interest Finn.

"No; I went to Turkey last summer to spend a month with Medha and her family, but since we've been back in North Carolina we pretty much travelled all around the States, you know, seeing all the National Parks and stuff."

"Where's your favourite place you've been to?" Finn asked eagerly. Rose blushed hotly.

"Actually, my favourite holiday was when we walked the Freedom Trail in Boston," she admitted. That particular day was ingrained in Rose's memory, saturated with sunshine and cannolis from the Italian neighbourhood. She didn't remember much about the historical walk except the city's oldest cemeteries, and the blistering sunshine.

"Really!" Finn laughed in disbelief and wrinkled his nose.

"Well, okay, I did like Hawaii, and Fiji," Rose added at his incredulous expression; she supposed, living so near to Boston meant the novelty of the history of the place had long since worn off. "I thought New Zealand is the most stunning place in the world. And I liked the Grand Canyon. Victoria Falls are pretty, too." Finn looked almost in pain as she listed the other places she had travelled to; her parents had been very keen travellers, and had always taken her with them whenever they went on long vacations. They had wanted to give her a broader taste of foreign cultures, and having been born in Paris, lived in Eastern Europe, Dubai and Turkey, she had had many opportunities to travel to new and strange countries. The safari in Africa had been the funniest and one of the most awe-inspiring holidays she had ever been on, because her mom had teased her daddy about a snake being nearby, causing him to fly into the back of the Land Rover in fear, and seeing the elephants and lions in their natural habitat. She had loved the _food_ of Paris, when she and her parents had returned there a few years ago for a vacation, and to see Versailles palace.

"Maybe Rose can help you plan your trip to Europe, Finn," Regina suggested. "She's something of a connoisseur of travel."

"Oh—not really," Rose blushed hotly, at Finn's endearing, easy grin. "I mean, we did travel a lot, but I'm not an expert." Finn laughed; she liked his laugh; it was quiet, and warm, and quite unassuming; he smiled with his eyes while he laughed.

Rose had worried that dinner would be awkward; but she and Finn talked for most of the meal, about the places she had been, and where Finn wanted to go, and the places Rose would recommend he visit if he were to go to various cities, the museums (and particularly the restaurants; Rose loved her food) and famous buildings and sites he had to visit—she could take him on a tour of the classical sites of Greece and Italy herself if he wanted.

After dinner, Rose instantly stood to help clear the plates and dishes, a little stunned by how little remained on the table to be eaten; _waste not_, was the motto of Medha's mother, and Rose had always adhered to it, and it seemed the McGowan family did too.

"What're you doing, Rosie?" John laughed, as Rose helped Finn gather plates.

"Um…helping clean up," Rose mumbled, flushing. Regina laughed.

"Why d'you think I had so many kids—that's their job," she laughed again. "Sit down, stay and chat with us." So, while Finn and Miller, who seemed to be in charge of loading the dishwasher in his particular order, were helped by Sean and Evan in cleaning up the table and doing the dishes, Rose sat back down and talked mostly with John, who was intrigued about what she'd been up too since she was nine years old, the last time she had ever visited the McGowans, even though her mother and father had spoken to John and Regina at least every week, if not every other day.

Dessert was a whole watermelon cut up and dished out, and the ice was broken between the boys, who had been a little awkward during dinner, when they had all started dribbling watermelon juice down their chins and shirts—or skins, in Sean's and Evan's cases.

Despite the friendly attitude of Finn and Evan's light-hearted teasing, and John and Regina's interest in her life, Rose was glad when dinner was over and she could escape off to her new bedroom. She hadn't had much time to sit and think this last week, with Regina helping her meet with attorneys and close up the house and send everything to be put into storage and such, and perhaps that was a blessing, but it also meant she hadn't had time to just unwind. Regina had felt like leaving Rose alone might allow her to shatter, but Rose just needed a few minutes to let her mind wander off and relax on that new big bed that had looked so comfy.

She found Caleb rooting through several of her cardboard boxes.

"Hey, kiddo," Rose smiled at him, lifting him up by his underarms and depositing him on the bed. "Did you find anything interesting?"

"Only _books_," Caleb said, wrinkling his nose adorably. "Why don't you have any toys?"

"I gave them away to other children a few years ago," Rose said, smiling.

"Why?"

"Because they needed them more than I did," Rose said. "They didn't have any of their own to play with."

"Oh. Mommy and Daddy buy me lots of toys," Caleb smiled, and Rose smiled back.

"I'll bet they do," she said quietly. Caleb sighed heavily and kicked himself off the bed, meandered through the boxes and suitcases, and closed the door behind him, after giving her a cheeky, dimpled smile as a goodbye.

Rose sighed heavily and sat down on the edge of the bed, instantly recognising how comfy it was going to be to sleep on tonight. She and Regina had shared a room at a motel last night, and it hadn't been the most comfortable of beds. She hadn't been sleeping so great lately anyway, but she felt exhausted after driving for so long. She sank back onto her back and closed her eyes, letting the quiet and the warmth of the room wash over her, until she was yawning and on that dangerous point where she could quite happily have fallen asleep right then and there, and remembered her promise to Pogue only when she heard his voice in her head, whining for her to wake up so they could go out.

Hauling herself up into sitting-position, Rose searched around for her purse and extricated her faithful Motorola A630, punching in a number; Pogue's name flashed on the screen as the phone recognized his number, and she waited until the second ring for Pogue to pick up.

"Hey Pogue," she said wearily, happy to hear Pogue's excited chatter on the other end of the line when he realised who it was. It sounded like he was at a party, which was not unusual for Pogue—nor for Rose, despite her shyness—even on a Sunday night before their first day of school. "Yeah… I'm here."

"_How are they_?"

"Hot," Rose admitted, with a quiet laugh. "One of them has an Orange County Choppers tattoo, so maybe he has a Harley too. The others are really nice, except one; I don't think he wants me here at all. John and Regina redecorated a room for me, which they didn't have to do."

"_And here you were afraid you'd be bunking with a boy_," Pogue sighed teasingly.

"I wasn't afraid of that. I've been bunking with _you_ pretty much every night since we were thirteen," Rose reminded him, smiling; she and Pogue had always, somehow, since they had turned fourteen, ended up in each other's beds, usually naked, most of the time drunk, and always after having had a really good night out. Even if they hadn't been at a party, they had been _out_, at a basketball game, either professional or high-school, or at the sports-park tossing a ball around, or going to see a movie or just walking around downtown with ice-creams, going on long bike-rides or cross-country runs, or (Pogue didn't so much appreciate this), walking to the library to pick out some books she would most likely finish within three days of signing them out. And after Pogue had gotten his licence, they had made weekend trips to the beach, to his parents' beach-house, and usually ended up skinny-dipping and curling up in a blanket. Nudity with Pogue was a natural thing for Rose; she wasn't a prude when it came to taking off her clothes, as she knew what her body looked like and was okay with it, because she did enough exercise to know she maintained it.

"_That's true_," Pogue acknowledged. "_Rose, I'm already bored_." Rose laughed at that. Besides her own father, Pogue was probably the most restless guy she had ever met; he couldn't sit still, and it always fell on Rose to keep him entertained, by any means necessary. Even handcuffing him to his bed and leaving him to yell for a few hours worked!

"You sound like you're at a party; how can you be bored?" Rose laughed softly.

"_You're not here_," Pogue said, sounding like he was pouting. "_Who's gonna keep me outta trouble, huh? Who's gonna keep me from kissing another guy when I've had too much to drink_?"

"Well, even _I_ can't stop you from doing that when you're horny," Rose laughed, a little louder than the last time. When he had been drinking, Pogue was the horniest boy in the world. It had led to a lot of exploration, considering they usually ended up naked in each other's beds, as they had grown into their teenage years. Rose couldn't have asked for anyone else she would have wanted to experience those things with, as Pogue was the best friend she could ever have. They weren't fuck-buddies or anything; she had never had sex, and wasn't ashamed or embarrassed to admit that. Pogue, on the other hand, was a slut, and he relied on Rose to stop him from sleeping with someone he had vowed earlier in the night he would never lay a hand on, or save him from being punished by a girl who he'd forgotten he'd slept with already. At sixteen and a half, he was already a bit of a Hugh Heffner.

"_Yeah, that's true_," Pogue laughed at the other end of the line. "_See what you've left me to?_"

"I feel sorry for our friends who have to take care of you now," Rose smiled, giggling softly.

"_You'd better be careful—I might shock the hell outta you and come and see you in Boston_," Pogue said tauntingly.

"Don't tease me," Rose sighed, pouting slightly. "You know I'd like that."

"_Yeah_," Pogue sighed. "_So, you start school tomorrow?_"

"Yeah, Regina and John sorted out all my paperwork," Rose sighed, glancing at the desk, on which the new journal notebooks were neatly arranged. "It's gonna be weird not going to the donut shop with you."

"_Maybe you'll make new traditions with the McGowans_," Pogue suggested.

"They're not traditions if they're new," Rose reminded him.

"_Okay, true, but you know what I meant_," Pogue chuckled. There was a soft knock on Rose's new bedroom door and she glanced at it, seeing Regina smiling on the threshold.

"Pogue, can I call you back?"

"_Yeah, call me after school tomorrow_," Pogue said. "_I'm probably gonna be pre-hungover tonight anyway_."

"I wish you lasting liver," Rose laughed. "Have fun."

"_I'll try_," Pogue sighed. "_Love you_."

"Love you, too," Rose said sadly, and hung up the phone. She smiled shyly at Regina.

"Checking in with Pogue?" she asked, and Rose nodded. "I liked him; he seemed like a good guy. And so cute! Anyway—I brought you some towels for the morning."

"Oh. Thanks," Rose smiled, as Regina placed the gold-beige towels on the dresser.

"I should probably warn you; apparently my threats aren't as effective long-distance as they are when I'm home, so I have to apologise for the state of the boys' bathroom," Regina sighed. Rose's insides sank. Sharing a bathroom occasionally was one thing—Pogue's mom hired a maid to clean the whole house once a week, so it was never even halfway dirty—but in a house with seven boys all sharing the same bathroom…she had watched too many episodes of _How Clean is Your House_?

"That's alright—I'm used to sharing with boys," Rose said, smiling. Regina knew enough about her and Pogue's friendship to know Rose had pretty much turned the Alexander household into her second-home.

"Alright," Regina shrugged, laughing slightly, as if she didn't believe Rose was really prepared for what she was about to see. "Are you settling in okay?"

"Yes ma'am," Rose smiled softly. She hadn't really unpacked anything except her suitcases yet, and the scarcity of coats and jackets and jeans was evident when she had emptied all her suitcases into the closet and dresser.

"Good. So, I was thinking we could perhaps go to Stoneridge tomorrow—the mall," Regina smiled. "I guess you'll be needing some winter things, huh."

"Uh… Yeah," Rose admitted, smiling embarrassedly. Although her parents had given Regina and John a monthly allowance for housing, clothing and feeding Rose, she didn't really want to have to ask them for money. They were still strangers, really. "It snows here, doesn't it?" Regina laughed good-naturedly.

"That it does. And you won't survive in shorts and a tank," she smiled. "We'll go shopping tomorrow after school if you want. We can get you some new clothes and makeup—and maybe a new purse? I've wanted to go into the new wing of the mall for ages! And we can have dinner at the food-court, and leave the rabble here to fend for themselves." Rose grinned, and chuckled. Regina's boys really were like animals in the zoo at feeding-time. Pogue was the same way, though; he ate anything that wasn't still moving.

"That sounds wonderful," Rose smiled. She did like Regina. She was so much like her mom that it felt natural and easy to sit and chat with her over a cup of hot tea or go to a movie with her and sit drooling over the male actors. And it was clearly evident that Regina McGowan was hurting for female company.

"Well, goodnight," Regina smiled. "I guess you'll want a good night's sleep before school tomorrow." Rose grimaced slightly and shivered. She didn't have high hopes for her first day at a brand-new school. She could still remember the day she had started elementary school, how Pogue had recognised her from coming to meet them with his mom, had latched onto her hand and dragged her into a game of kiss-chase before the bell rang for the start of lessons. She had kissed three of her classmates before she had even known their names.

"Regina… Is it always this…quiet?" Rose asked. The house was quiet—eerily so, for a house of seven children—all of them boys. Rose knew how much noise _Pogue_ made, and he was _one_ boy. He had two younger sisters, but they were quiet and shy like Rose, and the only noise they made was on the piano.

"No!" Regina laughed. "I think I have _you_ to thank for our current peace and quiet. My boys aren't quite sure how to behave with an actual girl around."

"I don't want to make anyone uncomfortable," Rose gulped, alarmed. She was a guest in this house; nothing should have to change for the boys because of the accident.

"Oh, don't worry about it," Regina smiled encouragingly. "They'll get used to you in a few days, I'd guess. My boys can adapt to a hurricane." _Nice comparison_, Rose thought, giving Regina a slightly strained smile. Given Doug's behaviour toward her, it wasn't whether they would adjust to her living with them, it was whether they _wanted_ her to live with them, and how they would act towards her if they didn't. After dinner, the boys had retreated to the den in the basement for a game on the Xbox and Rose hadn't seen or heard any of them since. "Well, goodnight."

"Goodnight," Rose smiled softly, and Regina closed the door quietly behind her. Rose let out a sigh and looked around her new bedroom, at the cardboard boxes full of her worldly possessions, boxes she couldn't bring herself to start unpacking yet. She organised them under the window so they were out of the way of the door, dresser and closet, changed into a comfortable pair of pyjamas—Victoria's Secret striped blue shorts and a tank-top—and grabbed her toothbrush, slipping into the bathroom to brush her teeth and wash her face, and within five minutes of climbing into bed, she was fast asleep.

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**A.N.**: Please review! I know I'm naughty for creating new stories when I don't finish the old ones, but I just get distracted and don't finish them, and then can't go back to them because my mind isn't in the same place. Please tell me what you think of this story.


	3. Minefields

**A.N.**: Please review!

* * *

**Rose Amongst Thorns**

Chapter Three

_Minefields_

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Rose was always an early riser. Unless she was hungover—then, she could sleep till two in the afternoon quite happily. But usually, she and Pogue were out of the house by seven a.m., walking downtown for breakfast, planning their days according to just how humid and sickly hot it was. So Rose was used to waking up early, and at six a.m. she beat her alarm-clock to it and woke up completely, blinking bemusedly as she looked around her. The room was different to hers. Very different; her bedroom at home was pale blue and inspired by the interiors of Le Petit Trianon. This room was a warm golden-beige colour, with a frosted-glass closet and a modern white desk that ran parallel to it, facing into the room, and a huge window overlooking a very natural-looking backyard, with an enormous tree close enough to the window to easily climb out onto.

_Oh, yeah_, Rose sighed, remembering. She was at the McGowans' house. In Boston. Massachusetts. The '_East Coast_'.

And today was her first day of school in a new town. A crushing weight seemed to press onto her chest and shoulders, pinning her to the bed, and Rose's face felt heavy, as if she couldn't manage a smile even to assuage Regina's careful, guarded glances. Regina thought Rose hadn't noticed the way she looked at her; as if she suspected that Rose might, any minute, shatter into a thousand pieces. Or burst into tears.

Rose hadn't, and wouldn't. She didn't think about it enough to get upset. Because if she _did_ think about it, she knew she would most likely break her heart.

Had her daddy been here on her first day of school, he would have woken her with a cupcake for breakfast. Every year, on her first day of school, she got a cupcake from her daddy, and her mom always made her a really special packed-lunch, something she could look forward to at lunchtime if she didn't enjoy her classes.

But here, today, in Massachusetts, with the McGowans, she wasn't woken by the sound of early golfers on the course at the end of her backyard, and her daddy didn't slip into her room with a frosting-drenched cupcake to kick-start her day with a sugar-rush. She was woken by someone playing music with extremely distasteful lyrics in one of the rooms near hers, and she could only guess it was Doug's taste in music. Thinking that if she wanted a nice shower, she had better beat the guys into the bathroom so she could actually have hot water, she collected one of the sheet towels Regina had brought her last night, grabbed her toiletries bag and stepped into the hallway, closing her bedroom door behind her. At the same moment, Finn emerged from his bedroom. His wavy hair was now rambunctiously curly in places, and stuck up at the back, and he wore a pair of faded Boston College mesh shorts and a white, paint-splattered t-shirt. Pogue slept in his boxers, if anything at all.

"Oh…hey. You going in there?" Finn asked, nodding sleepily at the bathroom door.

"Um… Yes, if you don't mind—I mean, you can go if you want to. I don't want to be in the way," Rose said, her cheeks flushing. She had always known she blushed too easily. Finn just gave her one of his easy, endearing smiles, which was made even warmer by the fact that he was sleepy and tousled-haired.

"No, go ahead. You'll probably wanna get in there before all the hot-water's gone," Finn smiled softly. "Knock on my door when you're done?"

"I will," Rose nodded, and scuttled across the hallway to the bathroom.

At home, she was used to a pristine bathroom, and spending as much time in it as she wanted or needed. Trying not to dwell on the tiny dark and blond hairs stuck to every surface, Rose quickly washed her hair and shaved, brushed her teeth and used a bit of facial scrub, then climbed out, wrapped her towel tight around herself and slipped out of the bathroom, her hair dripping coldly onto her shoulders.

She knew two things, upon exiting the bathroom; one, she would be taking bio-hazard cleaner to that bathroom within the week, and two, she was going to spontaneously combust due to excess blood flowing to her cheeks and building up pressure.

_Oh…my…God…_

Her foot was almost flattened by a remote-control car, and she jumped out of the way just in time, watching the thing zip down the hall and hop a makeshift ramp, and smash into a mountain of green-wrapped…tampons. _Her_ tampons.

Rose wasn't embarrassed about her tampons; indeed, the first time she'd ever gotten her period, Pogue had cycled to the nearest convenience store and bought her a box of them, so from the start she hadn't been shy about them in front of boys. And anyway, as her mother used to say (in the days when Rose had ranted and raged about the injustice of being born a girl) getting her period was a blessing; it meant she could have children, which Rose _did_ want. Probably not as many as Regina, but more than her mother had had.

She wasn't embarrassed about the tampons, or their implication—but it was Ian's cackle of laughter as he raced past her, wielding the controls to the car, that grated on her nerves and made her cheeks flame. That, and Doug coming out of his room to check out what was happening, stooping to pick up one of the tampons, and smirking.

"Tampax Super, huh," he smirked, seeing the now-empty box cast aside at the threshold of Rose's now open bedroom door. Rose, her cheeks burning, scowled at him and took the tampon from him, trying not to snatch.

"What're they for?" Ian asked, his forehead wrinkling.

"Go and ask your mom," Rose said, and Ian _humphed_ softly, before running off, shouting, "_Mom_! What're _tampons for?_" just as Evan and Finn appeared at their bedroom doors. Rose stared after Ian, her jaw slack.

"He actually asked her. Amazing," she blinked, shaking her head slightly; she stooped to collect the scattered tampons and stuck them back in their box, making a mental note to lock them somewhere. _At least he didn't find those condoms Pogue gave me_, she thought, internally breathing a sigh of relief. Pogue had insisted that she couldn't set foot in a house with seven guys without a stash of condoms, because those boys who no doubt have _friends _she might consider "giving it up for."

"Wha's goin' on?" Evan grumbled, leaning against his doorframe, and looking like he hadn't had an hour's sleep. Rose flicked her eyes over him and felt herself smirk slightly; he wore no t-shirt, only an open robe, and a pair of cartoon-frog patterned boxers, which were gaping open.

"Uh…_dude_," Finn said, catching Evan's eye, and looking down pointedly, and then at Rose, who was trying not to smirk too much, amused. Evan went back into his room and closed the door. No shame—just like Pogue. She didn't doubt that if she put Pogue and Evan in the same room together, they'd get along very well.

"Um…bathroom's free," Rose murmured to Finn, who nodded and shuffled off. She entered her bedroom and looked around, wondering what else Ian had gone through if he had searched through enough boxes to find her tampons. She dumped the box of tampons on her bed and sighed, wondering what to wear. Her first day at a new school, she would have to have her photograph taken for her I.D. and the yearbook.

She picked out her dark-wash denim shorts, the ones with the braided white belt, and her favourite white lace La Perla bra, wondering where the pink one had gone, or if she had left it in a suitcase; she pulled on a pair of navy Zebra-print Victoria's Secret lace-waist string-bikini underwear (without removing her towel) and her bra, and discarded the towel, going to the closet to pick out one of her father's softest white cotton-lawn shirts,

Out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of movement, and looking at the window she screamed, and ducked out of the way, quickly donning the shirt, keeping most of the buttons undone, to go and throw open the window and glare.

"What are you _doing_?" she demanded, glaring at Doug and Ian, who now both sat comfortably in the climbing-tree, both armed with binoculars.

"How ya like my room?" Doug asked, snickering.

"Your room?"

"Hey, I don't mind bunking with Mill the Dill Hole if I get to check out his view," Doug called with a gleeful laugh, securing his binoculars over his eyes.

"Buy a magazine!" Rose shouted back to him, and shot him the finger, listening to Doug's laugh and Ian's incredulous gasp that Rose had cussed, and flung the heavy curtains shut. Her entire body was thrumming with indignation, and her mood worsened. She did up a few more of the lower buttons on her shirt, but kept the neckline low, billowy, and tucked one side of it into her shorts; she rolled the sleeves up to her elbow.

The room had instantly darkened upon closing the curtains, and instead of waiting for the boys to disperse, Rose turned on the lamps and set about doing the rest of her morning ritual; _Estee Lauder_ 'DayWear Plus' SPF-cream and a tiny dusting of _Benefits_ 'Georgia' powder, she used her favourite shimmering dark coppery-gold eyeshadow to frame her eyes and gave her lashes a quick coat of mascara, slicked some of her favourite _fresh_ sugar-flavoured chap-stick onto her lips, and set about doing her hair; she blow-dried it fully, using her roller brush, and then did two backward braids from her side-parting along her crown and joined them with some pins at the back of her head, put some product in the rest of her loose hair and used her curling-iron to give it a bit of loose curl, looped her 14-carat gold hoops into her ears, secured her mother's favourite _Hermés_ 'Medor' watch on her wrist with her _Dogeared_ 'Karma' bracelet, and grabbed her favourite pair of frosted _Benjamin_ 'Nicole' sunglasses. She rubbed some strawberry-scented _Body Shop_ body-butter onto her legs and spritzed some of her daytime perfume, _Diptyque_ 'Ofrésia', onto her throat and wrists.

She wasn't keen on keeping the boys waiting for her to get her things ready, so instead of going straight down to breakfast, Rose sorted out her schoolbag; using her favourite slouchy black matte-leather shoulder-tote, she filled it with her wallet, truck-keys, her cell-phone, mini address-book, her digital camera, her little cupcake-decorated cosmetics bag, her new pink _iPod Nano_, several of the notebooks Regina had set on the desk, a couple of her favourite pens, and her information from her last high-school, her perfume, reading-glasses case, _The Blue Lagoon _by Henry de Vere Stacpoole, a packet of tissues, a wad of Post-Its, a little case of emergency compact tampons, a white sports bra for P.E., a combination lock, her mini first-aid kit, and a pack of gum. Rose was always prepared for anything. She put her faithful running shoes into their drawstring dust-bag just in case there were cross-country tryouts today, and made her way downstairs.

Stepping into the kitchen, she experienced déjà vu. She had seen this scene before, once, at the zoo, during feeding-time. The kitchen was a riot of noise and flying toast and bagels, sloshed milk and spilt juice, the scent of coffee lingering heavily on the air, mixed with burnt toast, the scents of sickly-sweet cereals and Gatorade powder being mixed into sports bottles that the boys stashed in their backpacks with granola bars for break-time. Neither Regina nor John was anywhere near the kitchen, and so pandemonium reigned.

"What the? Who drank all the orange juice?"

"Did you have all the Lucky Charms?"

"Where's the Philadelphia?"

"Who drank the last of the coffee?" The kitchen was overwhelming; Rose set her bag down by the kitchen door and licked her lips nervously, wondering where she should start.

The only thing she knew was that she was astounded anyone could hear anyone else, and was surprised when Caleb came careening into the room, singing at the top of his lungs, that anyone could hear him; then she realised what he was singing, and what he was wearing on his head that took the form of cat-ears. "_I got your bra-ah, I got your bra-ah_!" Tied around his head, Caleb wore her favourite pale-pink lace _La_ _Perla_ bra, the flimsy lace cups acting like the ears of a mouse. Rose's eyes flew open, and she dived for him.

Giggling, the little sucker was too quick; he dodged her fingers, somehow managing to run underneath the table without hindrance, to the other side of the room, and then started running around and around the island, singing "_I've got your bra-ah_!" at the top of his lungs, giggling madly. Rose gave up. Well, when his wedding came around, she'd be there with stories of him cross-dressing when he was a little boy! She even got her camera and took photographs of him dashing around the room, grinning from ear to ear, and wearing her bra like a bonnet.

Sean appeared out of nowhere. He grabbed Caleb around the waist with one arm and hauled him up.

"Lemme go! Lemme go!" Caleb shouted over and over again, as the boys all laughed. Sean snapped the bra from Caleb's head, examined it, and with the tiniest hint of a smirk, handed it to Rose.

"There's no controlling that one," Sean said, and they were the first words Rose had heard him speak; his voice was a lot deeper than she had imagined, more Garrett Hedlund than Kevin Grevioux, and warm.

"Thanks. You should've let him wear it to school," Rose said, taking the bra back.

Sean looked at her for a moment. His brown hair—he was the only dark-haired member of the whole McGowan clan—stood straight up and there was a streak of blackish-green grease below his right ear. He was handsome in a rugged, dangerous kind of way, definitely the biker who caused trouble for the girl-next-door's parents, but there was something about him that was off-putting. Maybe it was the appraising and slightly quizzical way that he was staring at her; like she wasn't quite sure what she was.

Then, for the most fleeting of seconds, Sean grinned; it was gone in an instant, but the image of it was seared in Rose's memory; Sean had the most beautiful grin, which had lit up his whole face, starting with those dark molasses-brown eyes that had seemed so blank last night at dinner. Sean shuffled off to the coffee machine, made a fresh pot, and stood, reading _Wizard's First Rule_, while he waited for the coffee to brew.

Rose went to the cupboard in which she knew the glasses were kept and filled it with ice-water from the fridge door, and got near enough to the toaster to put some bread in and spread some chunky peanut-butter on it. Eating her breakfast, and waiting for the others to give her some direction as to how she was going to get to school, she pulled out her cell-phone and started texting Pogue.

Regina arrived downstairs, going straight to the coffee-machine; Sean had disappeared with his book and some mugs of coffee, and Regina saw her and beamed brightly.

"Good morning, Rose!" She glanced at Rose's outfit, at the casual and slightly sexy shirt she wore open almost to the centre of her bra, the expanse of her legs that her shorts revealed, and her hairstyle. "You look very pretty."

"Thank you," Rose smiled. "I thought I might have to have my photograph taken today."

"Oh, yeah, for your I.D.," Regina nodded. "Remind one of the boys to show you to the office when you get to school." Rose nodded and sipped her water. "Oh, here. For lunch." Rose glanced up, as Regina rustled through the contents of her wallet, and handed Rose a five-dollar bill.

"No, thank you, I have money." Rose's cheeks flushed slightly as Regina pushed the money on her.

"I know—but you shouldn't have to spend it on food," Regina smiled, pressing the bill on her. Rose tucked it into her pocket, her cheeks still warm. Rose watched the boys scrabbling around the table and island for boxes of cereal and bagels and glasses for juice and milk.

"Regina…did I take Doug's bedroom?" she asked, eyeing Doug as he sloppily ate a bowl of Cap'n Crunch.

"Why? Is he torturing you about it?" Regina asked.

"Um… No. It's just… I don't want to put anybody out."

"Sweetie, don't even give it another thought. Between you and me, Doug _needed_ to be knocked down a peg or two," Regina said, glancing at Doug, a small frown creasing her forehead. "Oh—and I have to apologise for Ian's behaviour earlier."

"His behaviour?" Rose asked, sipping her water, and Regina tweaked an eyebrow.

"He seemed to have an interesting curiosity about the function of tampons," Regina said, and Rose almost choked on her water as she laughed, and smiled up at Regina's twinkling eyes. "I thought I'd leave that for John to deal with tonight." Rose laughed and Miller walked into the kitchen and came to stand next to his mother. He held one arm straight down at his side and gripped his elbow with his other hand, looking down at the floor.

"Good morning, Miller," Rose said. She knew that he suffered from Asperger's Syndrome, and had done a little reading when she'd had the time on the internet about the dysfunction. It was all about social behaviour; he wasn't good with new people. So she had figured the best way to go about Miller was to show him she was someone he should get used to. Rose took one of the natural Greek yoghurts Regina had offered her from the fridge and ripped off the cover, then drizzled some honey from the jar in the centre of the island into the pot.

"That doesn't go there."

Rose glanced up; Miller was staring at the jar of honey intently and gripping his arm even more tightly than before; his knuckles were pale. For a split-second, his eyes flicked up and actually rested on Rose. It was the first time Rose had ever seen them; they were a clear, sharp blue, and very beautiful, with the same thick, curling eyelashes as Finn. Rose glanced at the honey jar and then the rest of the things on the island, and realised with a jolt that everything was arranged—just as the bottles and things had been in the bathroom—in height-order, from the coffeemaker down to the sugar-bowl.

"Oh, sorry, Miller," Rose mumbled, rearranging the honey jar so it stood between the jar of coffee grounds and a box of peppermint tea-bags. Miller smiled, satisfied.

"Miller, this is Rosalie," Regina said, leaning over his shoulder. "You remember we talked about Rose coming to live here, right? Did you say hello yet?"

"Hello," Miller said to the floor. Rose smiled.

"Hi, Miller," she said softly.

"Did you know Joe DiMaggio holds the Major League Baseball record for the longest consecutive game hitting streak at fifty-six games?" he asked, glancing up brightly. "He set it in 1941 as a member of the New York Yankees."

"I didn't know that," Rose smiled. "I haven't been to a baseball game since I was here with you guys last. Do you remember, we went to watch the Sox play." Miller might have nodded, and his lips definitely twitched; he glanced up at his mother, before focusing his eyes on the floor and walking over to the table, and Regina caught Rose's eye and smiled.

"Well, Miller's clearly taken a shine to you," Regina smiled again, her eyes warm.

"He has?" Rose asked, lifting her eyebrows.

"Usually he doesn't talk to a new person for at least a week. With you it only took overnight," Regina smiled warmly, and glanced over at her son. "Miller's a real good kid if you get to know him. It's just…most people don't really…take the time to put in the effort to get to know him."

"That's a shame," Rose frowned. From what she had read on the internet, Miller could get past some of his difficulties if the people around him helped him to immerse socially.

"It is," Regina sighed. "He's such a sweet kid. Caleb, on the other hand, was a little imp the moment he was born. Sorry about your bra."

"Oh, that's alright," Rose said, shrugging. "It's been worse places than Caleb's head." Regina laughed, eyes twinkling; Rose had told her stories of her and Pogue's antics, like the time Rose had been taped to the flagpole at school on her last birthday, in her underwear. Pogue's idea. She ate her yoghurt, with the honey mixed in. "This is really good, Regina," she said, turning the honey jar so she could see the label, of which there was none.

"I bought it at the Farmer's Market a few Saturdays ago," Regina said. "I didn't know you liked honey and yoghurt."

"The honey's good for allergies; if you eat locally-produced honey it helps immunise you against allergies," Rose said, setting the jar back in place. She and Regina chatted for a little while, while the boys stocked up on food until their next opportunity to eat, at break, and Rose helped Regina straighten out the kitchen in her sons' wake.

Doug did the gangster-strut to the cupboard of mugs and poured himself some coffee. He smirked at Rose, very obviously looking her up and down, and Rose stifled a shiver of dislike and discomfort. Of all the brothers, Doug put her most on edge. Maybe because he was completely fearless. Rose noticed the leg of his jeans was heavily decorated. The entire thigh was covered in an intricate doodle of a female anime character with spiked hair and monster breasts nearly bursting out of her glossy bodysuit. The other leg featured a tough-looking male brandishing a sword. For biro on denim, they were definitely works of art.

"What're you starin' at?" Doug asked, lifting his chin.

"Did you do those?" Rose asked, nodding at his jeans.

"No, brain drain, I let some other mo-fo draw all over my leg at summer-school," Doug said, scrunching his face up. Rose sighed, sipped her water, and said,

"It's such a mystery why you don't have a girlfriend." Finn heard, and laughed, flashing Rose a very handsome grin. Doug's eyes narrowed, and he walked off, carrying his coffee.

"Sorry about him," Finn said, glancing after his younger brother. "We wanted to send him to military correctional school, but even they wouldn't touch him." Rose laughed quietly and Finn brandished a bag of Goldfish, an apple and a raspberry Fruit Leather at her for break-time snacks. Rose took a bottle of water from the fridge and tucked everything into her bag, then said goodbye to Regina and followed the older boys outside to Evan's silver Saab. She cast a wistful look at her truck, then climbed into the car, sitting beside Miller, who had taken the middle seat. She sat behind Finn, and noticed they all sat in clockwise height-order. Doug threw himself into the seat behind Evan and slammed the door, and after a short argument about whose iPod they'd link up to the stereo, Evan pulled away from the barn and drove off, _(Dude) Looks like a Lady_ by Aerosmith on full-blast from Finn's iPod.

* * *

**A.N.**: Please review!


	4. School

**Rose Amongst Thorns**

Chapter Four

_School_

* * *

"_This_ is school?" Rose stared up at the redbrick, ivy-covered building through the backseat window as Evan screeched to a halt in the senior parking-lot, throwing them all against their seatbelts.

"This is it. Baker High in all its glory," Finn said.

"Impressed?" Evan asked from the driver's seat.

"A touch," Rose said, indicating her finger and thumb a little way apart. Her school in North Carolina was one of those low, rambling constructions of stucco and chrome with covered walkways and courtyards with no benches. Baker High School was an enormous, redbrick structure with a clock-tower, and huge shady trees that were probably at least a hundred years old lining the pathways to the main entrance, and surrounding the grounds. Dozens of windows gleamed in the early-morning sunshine, overlooking the babbling brook that ran along the back of the football field and track. A huge banner was strung onto the football-field fence that read; _Baker High: Home of the Wildcats_.

But Rose was a Cougar!

Everywhere Rose looked, clusters of teenagers stood around, chatting and sipping expensive coffees or sharing a box of donuts or eating bagels with cream-cheese, girls squealing and hugging each other, gushing over summer memories and new haircuts, and several guys in maroon jackets loitered on the steps in front of the double-doors, guffawing and talking loudly, checking out the girls wearing short skirts and summer dresses and tight jeggings.

Shouldering her bag, Rose unfolded out of the car, and Miller climbed out behind her, closing the door without looking up from the tarmac. This place looked like it should have tutored George Washington and Benjamin Franklin or something. Certainly nothing compared to the historical buildings she had seen in Europe and India—the Taj Mahal, for instance, and Notre Dame cathedral, the Tower of London, and the palazzos of Venice—but for American standards, it was probably a very old building.

"Come on," Finn said, smiling across the car at her. "We'll show you where the office is."

"Thanks," Rose smiled bashfully, and followed Finn.

"You didn't think we were gonna desert you, did ya?" Evan teased, walking backward a few steps and flashing a beautiful grin at her. Rose shifted one shoulder and smiled bashfully.

She noticed the curious stares of more than a few girls as she walked up the front steps between Finn and Evan, feeling practically dwarfed by their height—and her best-friend was six-foot-eight! Evan slapped hands with a football-player type, promising to see him at lunch, and Finn got her chatting a little bit about the classes she had signed up for, and what clubs or sports she was going to try out for.

"Hey! Strickland!" Evan called the second they walked into the cosy, trophy-case-packed lobby. "Wait up!" Megan and Finn paused; Rose glanced over her shoulder as Evan darted away. "Sorry, guys, I gotta do a thing. I'll catch you later—good luck, Chibs."

Evan bounded down a few steps to catch up with his friends; Rose watched until he had reached them, and blushed when she noticed more than a few of the guys Evan slapped palms with were staring at her with the same puzzled curiosity as Sean. She glanced back at Finn, who was watching his brother; he caught her eye and rolled his, shaking his head slightly.

"Come on," he smiled easily, slinging an arm around her shoulders, and led her down the halls. Unlike her old school, Baker High halls were lined with lockers in maroon and gold, with school spirit banners hung everywhere, as well as flyers on the walls urging students to sign up from everything from AP classes to Photography to Show Choir to field-hockey to Book Club to Amnesty International. Book Club instantly picked Rose's interest, as well as the arts-and-crafts club.

"Well, this is it," Finn said, pausing outside a heavy glass door which stood open, the light-hearted chatter of counsellors and administrators adding to the sound of several fans and rustling paperwork, a printer and photocopier, and several students trying to settle their problems. "If you get Betsy, just remember, she's Doug's guidance counsellor; she has an excuse to be so bitter." Rose smiled and Finn winked, with a half-smile, and walked off. "Good luck!" Once Finn was gone, Rose stood in the hallway for a second, steeling herself. With a rush of sudden confidence, coming from a cheery voice that sounded very much like Pogue's that cheered her on, she squared her shoulders and entered the cool office.

It was quite a long process; by the time she had her schedule all sorted out, with a map highlighted by one of the administrators—thankfully not Betsy the grumpy guidance counsellor—where all her classes were and the quickest routes to get to and from each of her classes detailed in pen, with her new locker location and combination, having had her yearbook and I.D. photograph taken, a temporary I.D. card sorted out, paying for a yearbook and some school spirit stuff—a sweatshirt and blanket she could put in her truck—and a parking permit for the junior parking-lot, with fliers for all sorts of clubs and sports she had told her counsellor, a friendly guy from New Zealand who was surprised she knew of the little town he had lived in there, she was interested in looking into, it was halfway through first period.

Her schedule wasn't horrible; actually, her first two classes went really well; she arrived late in European History and was embarrassed and flush-faced, but a few of the people at the table she was sat at by the teacher Mr Sears were friends with Finn, and he had asked them to look out for her if she was in their class, so they introduced themselves while Mr Sears had them decorate name-cards for their tables. It was just a lot of admin stuff, being the first day of school; the handing out of textbooks and outlining the year's course material; a bit of Henry VIII, the French Revolution, a glance at Napoleon, Women's Suffrage, the Russian Revolution, Lenin, Stalin, the World Wars, Boom and Bust, Khrushchev and the Cuban Missile Crisis, and some modern politics.

Rose's next class was French. The teacher quickly decided Rose was too advanced for the class and decided to use her as the sacrificial lamb for the class, calling on her for all the difficult questions and never choosing her otherwise. Monsieur Gilliard did not like Rose one bit.

Morning break came and went; Rose sat by herself, listening to her iPod for a little while, sitting outside in the sun at the entrance of the large gym, reading _The Blue Lagoon_. When the bell rang for the end of break, she tossed her apple-core into the trashcan and followed the crowd of kids into the large gym, following them into the bleachers.

Miss Smith, a gorgeous blonde woman in her late-twenties, was her teacher, and Rose jumped when someone sat down beside her, close enough that their legs touched, and Finn grinned that easy grin of his.

"We're lucky, we got Miss Smith," Finn grinned, glancing down the bleachers at the bombshell of a teacher.

"Three guesses why _you'd_ be lucky to get her," Rose smiled, and Finn laughed. While Miss Smith sorted some paperwork out on her clipboard, everyone around them was chatting loudly, laughing, the noises echoing off the walls of the cavernous gym. It was nothing to the basketball gym she had at her old school, but she guessed basketball wasn't really as popular in Boston as it was in North Carolina.

"So how were your first classes?" Finn asked.

"Good. History and French. Well, French wasn't so good," Rose said quietly. "I don't think Monsieur Gilliard likes me very much."

"Oh, don't worry about him; he hates everyone because he's stuck here teaching," Finn shrugged.

"Oh. Thanks for asking your friends to look out for me," Rose said quietly, her cheeks flushing; Finn cast her a sidelong glance and his lips quirked into that lazy, endearing half-smile.

"You're quite welcome. I thought you'd probably be a little nervous being at a new school and everything," he shrugged. "What class did you have, anyway?"

"European History, with Mr Sears," Rose said, and Finn grinned.

"Mr Sears is awesome. I'll show you the photos of him in last year's yearbook, from one of the pep-rallies," Finn smiled. "You heard of tarred and feathered? Yeah, well he was _painted_ and feathered! He's insane."

Miss Smith had finished organising her paperwork, and called their attention; a TA brought in two cardboard boxes full of gym-kits, and Miss Smith collected the cheques parents had been advised to write for them; Rose handed her forty dollars in cash and took two sets of clothes, two white t-shirts with _Wildcats_ written on the front, with a panel for their names, and two pairs of maroon mesh shorts printed with white. They were advised to go and change into their kits, as Miss Smith just handed them the year's sports units on a list and gave them their P.E. locker assignments; Rose changed into her kit, pulled on her running shoes and met Finn out in the locker-room lobby, then crossed the little courtyard to the gym.

A big cage of basketballs had been produced, and while Finn went to grab a ball for them to toss around with his friends, Rose went up to Miss Smith, who was the cross-country coach, and nervously asked when try-outs were.

"Just head out to the field outside here after school," Miss Smith smiled; she was a friendly, extroverted kind of woman, and pointed out the slightly unkempt field beyond which was the sunken football field and the swimming-pool where the next three weeks' worth of lessons would be held, because of the fine weather. Rose would have to find her swim-suits when she got home. "You can wear your gym-kit, and we'll see what you've got." Rose nodded, smiled, and scuttled off to Finn, who grinned and tossed her the ball.

Gym was one of her favourite classes; her mom used to say it was unnatural for a girl to actually _like_ P.E., but Rose had grown up around a lot of boys, on boys' sports teams, and had always been outside, sometimes just reading, but most of the time running around and acting like a loon. She had been on a lot of sports teams at her last school, particularly first-string girls' basketball, even though she was a "short-stack," as Pogue liked to call her, but she was _good_ at basketball; she was even better at cross-country. There was just something about running that she loved. The freedom, the escape. When she ran, she was in her own little world, where she wasn't even herself. The class was going great, until one of Finn's friends—Tim, she thought his name was, a sweet-eyed guy with longish unkempt blonde hair and pretty hazel eyes and sweet lips and a tiny nose—didn't realise she wasn't looking in the right direction to grab the ball before it smashed into her face—more particularly, her nose.

She fell to the floor, stunned, and knew instantly her nose was bloodied; Rose didn't do well with injuries. She tended to lose a lot of blood in a very short time, which made her dizzy and nauseated. She clasped a hand over her nose and struggled to sit up, as most of the guys laughed, thinking everything was good. Blood started seeping through her fingers and onto her brand-new white t-shirt, and the telltale feeling of light-headedness made her feel dizzy as she slowly sat up, hands clasped over her nose. The boys were all in hysterics, laughing because they couldn't help it, and Finn dropped to his knees beside her, trying and failing to fight a grin, and helped lift her off the floor.

"Jeez, you're pale, Chibs," Finn winced in sympathy, linking his arm around her waist when she swayed. "Come on, let's go see Miss Smith. It's not broken, is it?"

"I don't think so," Rose mumbled, tasting the coppery tang of her own blood when she licked her lips, and the world started spinning, slowly at first, but by the time they reached Miss Smith, and blood was dripping down her arm, Finn was practically carrying her, the world zooming past.

* * *

Rose woke up in the nurse's office. Finn, his half-smile worried and teasing at the same time, breathed a laugh of relief, and Rose blinked.

"What happened?"

"You passed out."

"_Man_," Rose moaned, cringing with humiliation. Finn's laugh was soft and warm—and deeper than she expected. It was a little while until she realised the ceiling was no longer high, but close, and illuminated by strip-lighting that was too harsh on her eyes. That, and the only sounds she heard were the whirring of a fan close by enough to play with her hair occasionally, and the rustle of paperwork and the tapping of keypads and the whirr of a photocopier. "Where am I?"

"Nurse's office," Finn smiled. "I wouldn't have taken you for a fainter."

"I don't do well with blood-loss," Rose mumbled. Finn smiled crookedly.

"Yeah, I noticed."

"How'd I get here?"

"I had to carry you," Finn smiled teasingly. "You got out of the gym alright, but we got to the lawn and you just kinda…" He mimed keeling over. "I didn't think you'd appreciate it if I got the whole class to come and look while someone got a gurney, so I carried you."

"Oh." Rose blinked and flicked her eyes over Finn. Yes, there was evidence of her head having been near his shoulder; blood was drying on his t-shirt, splattered across the maroon _Wildcats _lettering. She flicked her eyes over his arms; they were long and leanly muscled like a big cat, but she wouldn't have thought of him as able to carry her. "You must be very strong." He laughed.

"You weigh hardly any more than Caleb," he chuckled. "Anyway, the nurse is just checking your records to make sure you're not a haemophiliac or anything, to see if we should rush you to hospital."

"I'm not a haemophiliac," Rose smiled slightly. Finn smiled.

"Yeah, I figured; you'd probably be dead by now if you were," his lips tweaked playfully. He had _very_ pretty lips, when she really looked at them. "So, this probably has to be your worst first day of school ever, huh. What with the tampons and the bra and Doug and Ian in the climbing tree."

"You know about that?"

"Of course—Doug asked if I wanted in," Finn shrugged; his eyes were teasing, as he smiled. "_I_ didn't feel like being castrated while I slept."

"I wouldn't castrate you," Rose laughed, and the world went fuzzy from dizziness. She closed her eyes. Finn chuckled softly.

"I'll bet you would, though," he said quietly, placing a wad of tissues in her hand so she could change the ones he was holding under her nose. "If we got you angry enough. Otherwise, why would people call you Chibs?"

"My scar," Rose said, thinking she'd already told him that. He just laughed.

"Come on, be a little more bad-ass," he chuckled. "I know you can. So how'd you get it, anyway?"

"Get what?"

"Your scar," Finn said.

"Oh…My friend Pogue was riding his motorcycle, and I was on the back, and someone tapped us at the lights, but it was enough; I was sliced through almost to the bone; Pogue broke his arm and ruptured his collarbone," Rose explained with a sigh, adjusting the tissues so she could speak easier. Finn hissed in sympathy.

"Ouch. How long were you in hospital?"

"A few days. I had a ton of stitches, though," Rose sighed. "I couldn't go to school for ages in case they opened. That was about this time last year."

"September's not your month, huh," Finn smiled softly.

"No," Rose said decidedly. She took a deep breath and sat up slowly, groaning.

"How d'you feel?" Finn asked, wincing.

"Like I lost about a quart of blood," Rose said. She had always been a quick bleeder; the cuts and scrapes would bleed like fountains; as a kid she used to have nosebleeds during the night, and her mom used to say it was like someone had been murdered in her bedroom in the mornings when she had to clean it up.

"Well, you probably have most of it on your shirt," Finn remarked, and Rose laughed softly. She glanced down and shuddered; most of the top half of her shirt was covered in blood. "You're kinda green."

"Yeah. I know," Rose sighed. She would be fine as soon as she got some sugar in her; that always put some colour in her.

"Hang on, I'll go get the nurse," Finn said, leaving her alone for a second. Rose sat up so she could see into the mirror above the sink in the corner, and removed the tissues from under her nose.

"Wow. You look like you could be an extra in a zombie horror movie," Finn's soft, deep voice said, and Rose glanced at the doorway, where he and a small little old lady in a cardigan over scrubs stood.

"How do you feel, dear?" the nurse asked. "You don't need to visit the hospital, do you?"

"No, I'm okay. It's not broken," Rose smiled. It probably made her resemble even more a flesh-frenzied zombie.

"Are you sure? You don't need to be sent home, do you? You lost a lot of blood," the nurse said.

"I always do; it's fine," Rose said quietly. "I just need something sweet and my colour will come back."

"Are you quite certain? I can call your mother and have her come and collect you," the nurse said tenderly. Rose stared at her, and then blinked very fast, something hot working its way into her throat and eyes, and it wasn't the blood that was now quickly ebbing its flow. The way she said it…like Rose _could_ just call her mother and have her come and get her… Of course, the nurse didn't know, but that wasn't her fault. Finn's expression went stark, and he watched Rose carefully.

"No, thank you," Rose said softly. "I… I'll be fine, just as soon as I have something sugary. It always brings my colour back. And the bleeding's stopped now."

"Hm," the nurse said, unconvinced, narrowing her eyes at Rose. She came over and started to examine her, and Rose just sat there and allowed her to, like a little kid, with her legs dangling over the side of the cot, assuring the woman that it was quite normal for her to bleed so heavily, and that she would be fine, as soon as the bleeding stopped. Finn disappeared for a little bit, and while he was gone, Rose washed her face and throat of all reside of blood. The nurse wouldn't allow her to leave until Finn had returned, in case Rose fainted during the journey back to the gym. Finn returned with a _Baby Ruth_ candy-bar and one of his endearing smiles.

"Split it with me?" Rose said softly, when he offered the candy-bar to her. Finn smiled, opened the wrapper, and split it in half, and seeing that Rose was still very pale and tinged with green, he insisted on linking an arm loosely around her waist, echoing the nurse's fears of her collapsing again.

By the time they reached the gym, Miss Smith was standing in the courtyard, and the lobby of the locker-rooms echoed with the chatter of their classmates changing back into their street-clothes.

"Oh, I'm glad you're okay," Miss Smith smiled. "You didn't need the hospital, then?"

"No ma'am," Rose said quietly. "It wasn't broken, just bloody."

"Well, good. Listen, if you're not up for it, you can try out for the team tomorrow if you'd like," Miss Smith said, smiling comfortably. "I wouldn't want you to start another nose-bleed later from running."

"I'll be okay," Rose smiled. "I'll be there."

"Okay, well…" Miss Smith smiled, and Finn guided Rose to the locker-rooms.

"You know," Finn said, looking down at his ruined t-shirt, "I think we should keep these just as they are."

"But they're gross."

"No they're not. We should make a time-capsule of you living with us. We can put these in it. We can write a journal for it too, and bury it in the backyard for our grandkids to dig up," Finn laughed. "They'll think we were war heroes or something. There's enough blood for the _King Arthur_ set to be jealous." Rose laughed, finished her half of the candy-bar, and left for the girls' locker-rooms. Several of the girls who had introduced themselves earlier during the lesson asked how she was when she walked into her aisle of the lockers, and Rose went to Miss Smith's office for a plastic-bag to put her blood-soaked t-shirt into after she'd rinsed it in one of the bathroom sinks, to take home and wash properly. Finn met her outside the locker-room when she had changed into her clothes and touched up her face with some more 'Georgia' powder to mask her paleness, carrying a matching plastic-bag with his own t-shirt in it.

"Apparently it would be a health risk to keep my t-shirt the way it was," Finn sighed. "So I guess we'll just have to write about you getting your nose bloodied by my best-friend." Rose laughed, and Finn asked what her next class was; art. They both had Miss Willow, a kind of free-spirited young woman with billows of wavy, frizzy brown hair and a lot of bangles, a penchant for herbal teas, and sitting at her desk with her ankles crossed, listening to headphones while she sketched. She greeted Rose warmly, as if they were the best of friends separated for a long time, and stood Rose at the front of the classroom to introduce her to the class, who had all been together last year. Rose handed her twenty dollars for a complete set of art supplies for the year, including high-quality sketchbooks, a set of acrylic paints, fine coloured pencils and drawing pencils, a portfolio, a little packet of photography paper for a future project, a wooden calligraphy dip-pen, a bottle of glue, and colouring pens, with a stack of papers about the course syllabus and future field-trips Miss Willow planned to take the class on to Boston art-galleries.

Rose scuttled off to one of the only empty seats, at a table empty save a round-faced blonde girl who sat jigging her leg and threading tiny seed-beads onto elastic thread, a bright-orange iPod Nano on the desk beside the little bead case, and blaring something fast-placed that was probably hip-hop or pop. A sketchbook was open in front of her, and Rose noticed the beads she was threading onto the elastic thread matched the colour spectrum of what appeared to be a fashion sketch, rich dark teals and shimmering old gold colours, with several swatches of flimsy, diaphanous printed fabrics. The colours reminded her of the traditional Turkish garments Medha's mother wore.

"Okay, darlings, you know what you have to do; just cover a page in your sketchbook. Can be anything. Show it to me at the end of the lesson; homework; finish it as best you can," Miss Willow said, over her headphones, reaching for a glass cup of steaming tea—which Rose could smell from here was a berry tea.

Miss Willow's class was completely anarchic. The teacher seemed more interested in her own sketchbook than the students, who took advantage of this by having loud conversations and laughing loudly; some sat eating while they sketched or painted, or used the Macs at the back of the classroom; some people were making collages from the stack of old magazines in the corner, and others were sitting on tables and just laughing and chatting about their summer. It was the most atmospheric art class Rose had ever been in, and the noise and the warmth of the sunshine streaming through the windows at her back made her feel warm and cosy and strangely a part of something. She quickly selected a pencil and opened the 11x17" sketchbook, skipped the first page and started sketching anything that came into her head; mostly, the McGowan boys.

Halfway through the lesson, Finn dropped down into a squat at the side of Rose's table, smiling; he offered her some of his Goldfish and tilted his head to look at what she had been working on. "Is that _Caleb_?" he laughed, turning the sketchbook so he could have a better view of her work.

"Uh…yeah. Well, it's supposed to be," Rose said. She had worked on Regina, the most familiar of the McGowans, in the centre of the page. Around her, in her billows of light-blonde hair, Rose had tried to draw her sons. Sean's ruggedness was easy to translate; it was the knowing expression in Evan's eyes that she had had trouble with, and the arrogance of Doug's smirk. She hadn't started on Finn yet.

"Interesting way you've drawn Miller," Finn said, his eyes skating over the drawing. Rose had drawn Miller as she had seen him earlier, at breakfast, when he had looked directly into her face, with those clear, sharp, pale-blue eyes, and the slightly bashful warmth in his cheeks, the tension in his facial muscles, and the prettiness of his lips, which were like Finn's. He had Finn's gorgeous eyelashes, too.

"Yup… This is going in the time-capsule," Finn said. "You should show it to Mom." Rose smiled, her cheeks heating up; Finn smiled and turned to the round-faced blonde, who was working on something else with her hands now; the colours were rich ruby-fuchsia and gold, instead of teal.

"Hey Pearl. How was your summer?" Finn asked, and the girl plucked her earbuds out with a smile.

"It was good," she smiled. "Not as good as _yours_, though." She glanced at Rose with a tweaked eyebrow, and Finn laughed.

"Um, yeah, Rose, this is Pearl. Pearl, this is Rosalie, the girl who's just moved in with us," Finn said. Pearl gave Rose a friendly smile.

"Pearl was my grandmother's name," she declared, and Rose blinked, and nodded.

"Rosalie was my grandma's," Rose smiled, and Pearl's eyes glittered.

"How cool! Hardly anybody ever gets named for their grandparents any more," Pearl declared. "I think Rosalie is prettier than Pearl though."

"They're both pretty," Rose said. "I just go by Rose though."

"Hm. Do you want a bracelet?" Pearl asked, and Rose blinked.

"Pardon?" Pearl lifted her wrists, which Rose just realised were packed about three inches deep each with seed-bead bracelets of all colours and styles.

"I can make you a bracelet," Pearl enunciated. "I make them for everyone." Finn raised his arms, and Rose noticed his wrists, though not as decorated as Pearl's cuffs, bore several beaded and braided bracelets. "I came up with a few new styles over the summer."

"Pearl can't sit still," Finn said, with an affectionate glance at the girl. Rose wondered whether he didn't like her, like _that_.

"I'm the same way," Rose assured her. Pearl's whole face lit up.

"See, Finn! I told you all I don't need Ritalin!" Pearl said. "Rose and I are _perfectly_ normal." Finn might have scoffed and snorted at the same time; in any case, he could barely keep his expression composed. Considering Pearl had spoken with elastic thread clenched between her teeth, her lips puckered, and her eyes crossed from concentrating on the thread, her declaration didn't have much weight.

"Anyway, I'd better go back to my sketchbook," Finn sighed, flashed Rose a grin, and walked back to the table he shared with some people who were easily identified as his friends.

"What colours do you want?" Pearl asked, pushing the box of tiny seed-beads to Rose. "Pick some out." So Rose had a little bit of fun picking out colours for a braided bead bracelet; she chose rich, deep turquoises, emerald-greens, dark teals and gold colours, and Pearl spent the remainder of the class making an intricate bracelet of seed-beads, which she braided together to form a solid, strong and beautiful bracelet, with a little knot at one end and an even smaller loop at the other to clasp it snugly around Rose's wrist.

"I heard you're going to try out for the cross-country team," Pearl said, her tongue sticking out as she grabbed a pencil and opened her pristine sketchbook.

"Um… Yeah…"

"Good. We need new legs. And Finn didn't seem to be able to stop looking at yours during gym. I hope your nose is okay, by the way," Pearl said, and Rose flushed, and mumbled a "Thanks," and wondered if Pearl was teasing her about Finn.

With ten minutes left of the class, Pearl hastily sketched what Rose feared was her face—considering Pearl didn't look away from her for a second until almost the bell. Their art supplies were returned in big plastic folders with their names on sticky-labels, into a cupboard under the dry-erase board, and everyone packed up their things, sliding off desks and throwing away trash, showing Miss Willow their half-completed sketchbook pages. Rose caught a glimpse of Miss Willow's sketchbook; there were studies of several of the students, including Finn, and herself, Pearl's big-eyed round face and her short bob, and another elegant ballerina of a girl.

Considering how the morning had begun, and how she had spent most of her favourite class (gym) in the nurse's office unconscious, she would have thought nothing could make her feel anxious about lunchtime. But when it came to it, exiting the art classroom, dread settled in her stomach.

* * *

**A.N.**: Please review!


	5. Miller, and Satan's Mistress

**A.N.**: I'm morally opposed to physical exertion, so you'll just have to accept that my knowledge of cross-country running comes from Wikipedia and that scene in _Sisterhood of the Travelling Pants_ where Bridget runs along the beach with that guy.

* * *

**Rose Amongst Thorns**

Chapter Five

_Miller, and Satan's Mistress_

* * *

Lunchtime was a low point. She had thought nothing could compare to the embarrassment caused by Finn having had to carry her to the nurse's office. But at least nobody else had seen her out cold. She had him to thank for that.

But a new kid was the most conspicuous in the cafeteria. Before she had even reached the end of the lunch-line, Rose was thinking about where she could sit. People had introduced themselves to her in her classes, yes, but nobody had struck up enough conversation to warrant crashing their lunch tables. And she certainly wasn't going to rely solely on Evan or Finn or Miller—certainly not _Doug_.

She picked out a natural yoghurt, a big bowl of Waldorf chicken salad, an apple and a bottle of water, paid the woman with the fluorescent talons at the end of the line, and then bit her lip, glancing around, feeling her cheeks flush warmly as she looked around and several people caught her eye as she tried to find somewhere to sit. She wasn't going to do a Cady and eat in the bathroom! The cafeteria was a big hall, with one wall dedicated to windows and double-doors overlooking a big courtyard, which was filled with old picnic tables and wobbly benches, and drenched in midday sunshine. Better still, it was almost deserted.

A little voice inside her head—which sounded very much like Pogue—urged her to turn around and go and sit with Pearl or Finn, _anyone_, but Rose ignored it. It was her first day at a new school; she was _allowed_ to be shy and nervous. She made her way over to one of the doors out, and heat drenched her as she stepped outside. At home in North Carolina, the humidity and heat had meant that she was used to having the air-conditioning on even while she slept, and going outside at noon was almost dangerous. There were only a few weeks of the year in N.C. when the weather was like it was now, hot but pleasantly so, so stepping out of the house didn't mean buckets of sweat and clothes clinging to her. She liked the heat, and dropped down at one of the far picnic tables that sat just under a shady tree, with her back to the sun. Shoulders slumped, brain tired, body aching, Rose sat down and opened the salad dish, unwrapping her spork and taking the lid of the bleu-cheese dressing.

She only had two more classes. AP English and Algebra II. English would be easy; having spent so much of her life reading, Rose had developed a very adult writing style, and she was very good at essays and such; she was just lazy and waited until the last minute to do them. She worked best under pressure, which made her a good athlete. As soon as she survived an hour of Algebra II, she would go and change into her _clean_ gym kit and hopefully make it onto the cross-country team. Rose didn't want to contemplate math. It was her worst subject by far—even including last year's chemistry mishaps that had singed Pogue's eyebrows off.

So she picked out _The Blue Lagoon_ from her bag and turned to the page she had gotten to during break—Chapter XI, The Island, and was halfway through the chapter when the doors swung open behind her, allowing another person into the courtyard. Glancing up, she saw Miller walk out, and plucked her earphones out. Miller's eyes were riveted on the ground, and he made a beeline for the table at the back-right corner of the courtyard, placed his tray down, and sat. He pulled a portable radio out of is black backpack and slipped the headphones over his ears. For an instant, he glanced up and saw Rose looking at him.

"Hi, Miller," Rose said quietly. He heard her.

"The Yankees are playing their hundred and thirty-fifth game of the season," he replied. Rose smiled.

"Let me know who wins?" she said, and Miller almost nodded as he glanced down at his tray and flicked the switch of his radio; she could hear the tinny voice of an announcer come to life. Miller set the radio on the table and went about seasoning his bowl of soup with the plastic salt and pepper shakers on the table; just as the shampoo bottles in the bathroom and the coffee canister in the kitchen, the items on Miller's tray were organised in height-order; soda-can, juice-bottle, snack-pack.

Rose's cell-phone started vibrating in her bag (she had turned the ring tone off before her first lesson) and she plucked it out, smiling with relief when she saw whose name it was illuminated on the screen.

"Hey, Pogue," she smiled, setting her book aside, uncapping her water. It was weird not to have Pogue around. Stranger still to need her phone to talk to him during school hours. He was having lunch with their friends—who were all shouting greetings and messages to her, sometimes actually stealing Pogue's cell-phone to have a chat—and sounded morose. Rose told him what had happened earlier in the morning, and everyone in their group of friends was howling with laughter over the tampons, the climbing-tree, the bra, and the bloody nose. Telling Pogue, who could laugh at anything, made her feel better about the whole situation, and she was laughing as well by the time the bell rang for the end of lunch, and she had to say goodbye.

She had only two more hours, and then she could be running.

AP English turned out to be a doss, to use the favourite word of her daddy's Scots friend; it turned out she had already studied _A Midsummer Night's Dream_, _Pride and Prejudice _and _The Great Gatsby_. But since they were all her favourite books (and since she had watched the 1995 BBC/A&E production of Pride and Prejudice with Colin Firth since she was a baby, she was word-perfect) she wasn't going to complain, and wondered whether Regina would think it immoral to just hand in the essays she had done on them last year, which she still had saved on the back-up drive for her laptop. Finn was in her English class, too, which was fun. Like Art, English seemed to be one of those inherently fun classes; the teacher was young and friendly and liked to laugh, and instead of reading or writing something about themselves, they went down to the baseball field with a bat and some balls and took advantage of the sunshine, playing an ice-breaker game. Rose stole five bases and scored three home-runs, which endeared her to the boys she recognised from her gym class, who all wanted her to be on their team for the baseball unit in gym.

Math, Rose's worst subject, was just what it ought to be; torturous. The teacher, Mr Jones, a good-natured man in his mid-thirties, had given them an alphabetical seating arrangement, and Rose's seat was just under the south-facing window, which was blanched with sunlight. It was warm and bright where she sat, and it didn't help her at all when Mr Jones dived straight into the first Algebra II lesson of the day with a PowerPoint presentation, demanding they write detailed notes for help on their homework. Books were assigned at the end of the lesson as well as homework, and Rose was in that hot, drowsy place between sleep and awake, and the idea of cross-country try-outs didn't sound nearly as good as they had an hour earlier.

But, having told Finn not to wait for her when he walked home with friends, instead she would be going home with Evan, who had sports practice of his own, Rose made her way to the locker-rooms again, changed into her gym kit and running sneakers, pulled her loose hair into a loose ponytail, and met Miss Smith as she was leaving her office.

* * *

Basketball, track, all other sports Rose could set aside, just to _run_. Cross-country was just that; running, and that was why she loved it, and why she was good at it. Miss Smith had the whole team and any newcomers do warm-ups, led by a tall, tan girl with broad shoulders, a lean waist and long legs. She was easily a head taller than Rose, and, as with Monsieur Gilliard earlier in the day, Rose got the distinct impression she wasn't liked. The girl's stare was cool and it seemed to Rose like she was trying to find a chink in Rose's armour. She was blonde, like Rose, but it was almost champagne-blonde, and had been highlighted and was pulled into a thick ponytail. She wore a little too much makeup, and looked like Regina George; fierce, and beautiful.

Try-outs were really just very long races. Rose knew how to pace herself, and how to surprise her opponents; 'Though she be but little, she is fierce,' so Helena says, and so it was true for Rose; though she was petite, she was stronger than she looked. She raced against some of the best runners on the team, and when she beat them she got slaps on the back and high-fives from some of the team-members; Pearl grinned, not in the least annoyed when Rose outstripped her; then Rose was set against the tough Barbie-doll Pogue would have loved to have wrapped around his waist.

She didn't mess around; whoever the G.I. Jane was, she was tough. Rose had only ever competed against one runner who was better, and this girl was definitely going to take their place. She won, and Rose smiled and offered her hand for a high-five; the girl looked at it like it was covered with ticks, and sauntered off toward Miss Smith.

The next bit was what Rose was looking forward to. Running. Not races, or warm-ups, but _running_, full-out, pelting. They were to run three miles around the field. Rose stretched her legs again and tucked her t-shirt up so her midriff was bared, allowing for the breeze, and tucked the sleeves into her shoulders; they all lined up, and Miss Smith blew her whistle.

This was what Rose had waited for all week; the chance to run. She began at the back, but quickly stopped worrying and just ran, and in this way she overtook and set a new pace, competing with the three seniors. Her legs burned as her muscles stretched and contracted, screaming with jubilation and a little bit of pain; her breath blistered in her throat, and sweat slicked her skin, which was burned hot by the sun. All she had to do was move. One foot in front of the other. And everything dissolved away. She saw only flashes of colour and indiscriminate shapes and objects, only felt the sun blistering on her skin and the gentle caress of the cool breeze, the burn of her muscles, only tasted the salt of her sweat, only heard the ragged inhalations of her own breath, her footfalls, and all she could think of was putting one foot in front of the other, and pacing herself, making sure every few hundred yards she quickened her pace in spurts, putting herself ahead, then going into her 'race-pace,' and counting the number of laps, counting up to how many Miss Smith had dictated.

In the last lap, G.I. Jane came up behind her, trying to get ahead; they relayed, her in front, Rose overtaking; her overtaking, Rose, until the final stretch, and Rose pelted ahead of her, thinking of nothing but the stopwatch, her time.

"Excellent, Rosalie!" Miss Smith called, laughing slightly, and glanced at her stopwatch as Rose kept jogging a little bit, then ran over to her, warming down.

"What was my time, Coach?" Rose asked. Miss Smith told her; Rose grinned, floating on the blissful wave that was an ocean's worth of endorphins crashing over her body, energising her and making her buzz, happier than she had been in a long time.

"Well, Rose, come and see me after you've showered, I wanna talk to you about joining the varsity team," Miss Smith said, smiling. Out of the corner of her eye, Rose saw G.I. Jane glowering, and muttering to one of the senior boys who had kept pace with Rose for most of the race.

"Yes ma'am," Rose smiled, giddy from running. Pearl came pelting over the imaginary finish-line, red-faced and panting, and almost collapsed at Rose's feet.

"Go get some water, Pearl," Miss Smith said, smiling. "Go on. Come back and get your time." Rose went with Pearl, whose wrists glittered with her beaded bracelets, and helped her when she staggered towards the water-fountain by the ticket-booth of the football-stadium, which sloped down a hill, at the bottom of which, past the Visitors bleachers, was the brook, which just now Rose really just wanted to dive into. Rose was walking back towards the group when G.I. Jane strode past, toward the water-fountain, and bulldozed into Rose so hard she went flying, and bit the dirt.

"What the hell was that for, Hailey?" someone shouted, as Rose spit dust out of her mouth and scrambled off the floor, wiping dirt from her sweat-slicked stomach. "I'm sorry—about her," the same voice said, and Rose blinked at the girl. She was tall and powerfully-built, and most of her shoulder-length blonde hair had fallen out if its ponytail; like Rose, she had tied her t-shirt under her bust and gotten rid of the sleeves; Rose just about remembered her face from the locker-room, and the field; she was one of the faster kids, who had kept on Rose's heels. "Nobody likes her."

"Not even them?" Rose, having glanced over her shoulder, noticed G.I. Jane was now chatting and laughing amicably with a cluster of guys in football practice gear, twirling the end of her ponytail in her fingers and flirting.

"She pays them," the girl joked. Pearl staggered back to Miss Smith in the centre of the field. "As her sister, I get to turn down the money and say what I really think—and it's usually colourful."

"You're _her_ sister?" Rose asked, surprised, but glancing between the girl and G.I. Jane, she saw the family resemblance. This girl was prettier, only because her sweat-shining face was clean of makeup, and she was smiling.

"I know. I'm, like, _so_ much prettier than her," the girl said, batting her eyelashes comically. "Anyway, I'm Aimee Farmer. Little sis to Hailey 'Queen Bitch' Farmer."

Rose smiled and offered her hand. "I'm Rosalie—well, sometimes I'm Rosalie. Usually I'm just Rose. Just Rose."

"Hi," Aimee laughed, shaking her hand. "So…Where'd you learn to run like that?"

"Like what—Oh! Um…well, I just moved from North Carolina. It's a lot hotter and more humid there, so it's nice to run in this weather," Rose shrugged.

"_Aah_," Aimee said slowly, a smile curling her lips again. She had faint lines at the corners of her mouth from where she smiled so often. "You're _that_ Rose, then."

"Um…What Rose?"

"The one Pearl was talking about at lunch today," Aimee smiled. "The Rose who just moved in with the McGowans."

"Oh. Her. I mean—yes, that's me," Rose said, her cheeks flushing. Aimee laughed.

"I gotta tell you, you've made a lot of enemies already just by moving into that house with all those guys," Aimee chuckled.

"Would they prefer it's them?" Rose asked.

"Hell, yes!"

Rose chuckled. "I'd give them one morning with the McGowan boys before they'd be running away screaming."

"Aw, come on, I bet it's not that bad being the only girl there," Aimee laughed. So Rose told her about her morning. By the time they were dismissed by Miss Smith and reached the locker-rooms, Aimee was gasping for breath, her body wracked with laughter as tears streamed down her face, as Rose told her about Finn having to carry her to the nurse's office.

After a cool shower, which got rid of the sweat and makeup and any remnants of gym class's blood she had missed in the nurse's office, Rose changed back into her denim shorts and cotton-lawn shirt, plucked the band out of her hair so it fell around her shoulders, and put on some of her _Estee_ _Lauder_ 'DayWear Plus SPF' cream, some of her sugar chap-stick and her perfume and grabbed her math textbook, her bloodied gym t-shirt, and went to find Miss Smith.

* * *

"Hey, Rosie, come in," Miss Smith smiled, so Rose went to sit at the chair in front of Miss Smith's cluttered desk. "Did you get a drink yet?"

"Not yet," Rose smiled; she had a dollar for the vending machine.

"Okay, so, let's get to it," Miss Smith smiled. "You've got some obvious talent—I don't need to tell _you_ that! Most of my runners left last year, and I have only three varsity runners. With what I saw earlier, I think you'd be an asset to my varsity team. We need to set a better pace and push the better runners. Where'd you run like that?" Rose told her about North Carolina; Miss Smith had been there on vacation once in mid-July, and so understood.

"Well, what do you say, join my varsity cross-country team?" Miss Smith smiled. "You'd definitely be a great secret weapon at meets."

"I'd love to," Rose smiled. She had hoped to get onto the varsity team at her school in North Carolina.

"Excellent. Then I'll see you tomorrow afternoon! If you can bring some money for the uniform," Miss Smith smiled, and Rose nodded.

"I promise not to get blood all over this one," she mumbled, and Miss Smith laughed.

"Alright, well, I'm sure you're ride's waiting," Miss Smith said, and dismissed her; Rose bought a bottle of ice-cold water from the vending-machine outside her office and met Pearl and Aimee, who had both been leaning against the lobby wall, looking tired but happy, examining new bracelets packed on Pearl's wrists.

"So what'd she say?" Aimee asked, her grin almost blinding.

"Miss Smith asked if I wanted to join the varsity team," Rose said, trying not to smile too widely. But when Pearl and Aimee both whooped, she couldn't help it, and grinned.

"Depose my sister as the best runner, please!" Aimee begged. "I'll love you forever!" Rose laughed softly and chatted with Pearl and Aimee back to the front of the school, which was in glorious gentle shade.

"Hey, you need a ride home?" Aimee asked.

"Um—thank you, but I'm supposed to be meeting…Evan…" Rendered speechless, Rose simply stared, and so did Pearl and Aimee. Evan's rusty old Saab was parked at the curb of the school's drop-off loop, and Evan himself was leaning back against it, looking out across the plush, shady front lawn. His legs were crossed at the ankle and his arms crossed over his chest, and his blonde hair shone in the sunlight.

"He makes it _so_ difficult for us," Aimee moaned softly, and Rose blinked just as Evan glanced around and spotted her; he smiled.

"Hey, babe!" Pearl made a tiny noise that might have been a swoon and actually did sigh, but clattering footsteps echoed on the steps and someone—Hailey, Rose recognised her as—jogged down the steps past them, nearly knocking Aimee over as she barrelled down, along the tree-lined pathway, and into Evan's arms.

Rose's world stopped still. _No!_

It couldn't be.

"How can Evan be dating _her_?" Was that a whine? She stared as Evan lifted Hailey off the floor by the waist and mauled her with an almost-pornographic kiss. She felt like gagging; indeed, Aimee made a retching noise and pretended to vomit over the side of the steps.

"I know, right," Aimee said contemptuously, wrinkling her nose at Evan and Hailey. "My sister, the PDA slut. My family is just _so_ proud of her."

"Get a room!" one of Hailey's friends called, earning a round of laughter from several of the teenagers who were scattered about on the lawn after team practices and try-outs and clubs. Hailey detached herself from Evan's face and shot them all a self-satisfied smirk. She took Evan's hand and pulled him away from the car so she could get in. Evan opened the door for her and the moment Hailey's bottom hit the seat, she flipped down the visor to check her makeup in the little mirror.

"Hey, Rosie, you coming?" Evan called, and Rose jumped a little bit. Hailey's head snapped up and she glared out of the window.

"I'll see you tomorrow," Rose said to Aimee, who smiled. Rose waved to Pearl, who smiled behind her shades.

"Hey, you got a cell-phone?" Aimee asked, and Rose turned and smiled as Aimee pulled out her phone; Rose gave Aimee her cell-phone number.

"And Finn added me on Facebook last week," Rose said, smiling, when Aimee called her phone to give Rose her number; Pearl had lost her cell-phone, and had to wait for her parents to buy her another one if they couldn't find it; they had just moved house. Rose could relate. Pulling her own sunglasses down over her eyes, Rose made her way down the path to Evan's car.

He opened the door for her, shot her a smile, and Rose dropped into the back seat.

"So, how was your first day?" Evan asked, glancing in the rear-view mirror as he pulled out of the drop-off loop.

"It was alright," Rose mumbled, just as Hailey replied, "Same old, same old."

Hailey twisted in her seat to glare at Rose. She ignored her.

"Actually, Hails, I was talking to Rosie," Evan said, reaching out and putting his hand over Hailey's. "We all know how _your_ first day went." He and Hailey exchanged a knowing look and laughed. Suddenly, shivers went up and down her spine. This was _Evan's_ car…and Hailey was his girlfriend…

"Evan?"

"Yah?" He smiled in the rear-view mirror, his sunglasses flashing.

"Are your seats stain-guarded?" Rose asked, and Evan choked out a laugh of surprise. Rose detected a slight flush in Hailey's cheeks under her makeup.

"Why d'you ask?"

"I just wanna know where it's safe to sit," Rose murmured, glancing down at the seat. Evan just laughed. Completely unashamed, just like this morning with his frog-patterned boxers.

"So how _was_ your day?" Evan asked. "I heard about the basketball incident."

"Oh…Yeah…That," Rose said, blushing.

"He got you pretty good, huh, I heard," Evan laughed good-naturedly.

"Right on the nose," Rose pouted subtly.

"Well, you look great," Evan chuckled. "You can't tell."

"Good," Rose said, her cheeks flushing; Hailey's glower deepened.

"So, what happened at cross-country practice? Finn said you were thinking of trying out?"

"Coach think you're good enough?" Hailey asked spitefully. Rose flushed at her tone.

"Come on, Hails, Miss Smith wouldn't have taken her if she wasn't up to it," Evan said, and Rose felt a surge of gratitude towards him for sticking up for her in front of his girlfriend.

"I was All-State last year," Rose said, feeling Pogue's voice as her confident alter-ego pushing her to stick up for herself in front of this spiteful girl who didn't have any excuse to be rude to her.

"See, Hails!" Evan said happily. "So what'd Miss Smith think, Rose?"

"She asked if I wanted to join the varsity team," Rose said, directing her reply to Evan.

"That's awesome, Chibs," Evan grinned.

"Chibs? What's Chibs?" Hailey asked quickly.

"My nickname," Rose said breezily.

"It's pretty cool, as nicknames go," Evan remarked. "You'd better watch out Sean doesn't make you his old lady." Rose laughed at that.

"I _don't_ think Sean is quite my type," Rose smiled to herself.

"Oh, really? Just what _is_ your type? What kind of guy do you like?" Evan asked, chuckling.

"Chatty."

Evan threw his head back and roared until they reached the stop-light.

"I should probably tell you _Sean's_ nickname is 'Super-dope'," Evan chuckled.

"That's not very nice."

"It's a nickname. It's not supposed to be nice. Just don't let him hear you calling him that. You'll end up with a black eye."

"Are you speaking from experience?" Rose asked, and Evan flashed her a grin in the rear-view mirror. Rose laughed softly.

"How was lacrosse practice?" Hailey asked Evan, drawing his attention back to her. Rose saw her expression, and knew they teetered on very thin ice. "Are you finally going to make All-State this year?"

"You know I don't care about that," Evan said, still holding onto Hailey's hand. "Lacrosse is for fun. As long as I make first-team hockey—"

"I know, I know; the schools will be coming after you," Hailey sighed.

Evan and Hailey chatted on, and Rose, sitting in the dubious stain-guarded backseat, found herself suffering from major third-wheel discomfort. Listening to the happy lover's chatter was horrible, and the way Evan held Hailey's hand reminded Rose of her parents.

* * *

**A.N.**: Please review!


	6. JellO Shots

**Rose Amongst Thorns**

Chapter Six

_Jell-O Shots_

* * *

"I'm so glad you had fun tonight," Regina said softly, as they stepped over the threshold of the McGowan house, laden down with shopping bags and stuffed with California Pizza Kitchen, sipping on Starbucks passion fruit iced-tea lemonade.

"I did, thank you," Rose said softly; the house wasn't as quiet as it had been yesterday; in fact, it was bedlam. The TV was blaring, and downstairs the Xbox was on full-volume; Sean was playing in the garage with his band—Regina had informed Rose _that_ was what the racket was, though Rose had recognised a Deep Purple song before she and Regina had headed out to the enormous mall for nearly three hours of continuous shopping, chatting and eating. Rose _had_ had a good time—and Regina maybe even more so. Rose had gotten the impression that Regina hadn't had the leisure of stepping into Sephora for _many_ months, if not years. "But you didn't have to buy me all of this."

In her hands, Rose carried numerous bags—Sephora, Abercrombie, Macy's, Top Shop and Victoria's Secret—and they were cutting off the blood-flow into her fingers because they were so heavy. She didn't want to fathom how much money Regina had spent on her—well, on _them_; Regina carried just as many bags as Rose, and had delighted in Rose helping her pick and choose outfits and shoes and critiquing how she looked when she tried things on. Rose guessed her sons didn't have the patience or taste to recognise that Regina, in her mid- to late-forties, wore _J Brand_ better even than a twenty-five year old. And that was _after_ having given birth to seven kids! If Rose could have Regina's figure when she was her age, she would be a very happy woman.

"It was my pleasure, Rosie," Regina smiled. "You looked so pretty in those outfits."

"Well, thank you, again," Rose said, feeling her cheeks warm. Every time Regina had taken out her wallet, Rose had flushed and insisted _she_ pay for them with her trust-fund ATM card. Regina wouldn't hear of it; she had insisted the trust-fund was for college, and like saying she didn't want Rose to spend her allowance on food, Regina had insisted she buy her clothes, lingerie, and shoes, and expensive makeup (after a mini makeover at Benefits, after having their eyebrows neatened at the Brow Bar in Macy's).

"Hey, you're quite welcome," Regina smiled, and Rose remembered Finn saying the exact same thing earlier in the day. "Do you know what a pleasure it was to actually be able to go _into_ a Victoria's Secrets store? I hadn't been into the cosmetics section in Macy's for ages. Maybe we could do it again. You liked CPK, didn't you?"

"Yes, ma'am," Rose smiled. At California Pizza Kitchen, Rose had had a bowl of tortilla soup and she and Regina had shared a meat-feast pizza, and for dessert they'd had cinnamon-sugar pretzel-bites from Wetzel's.

"Maybe next time we can take in a movie—and go to the Cheesecake Factory for dessert," Regina said, her eyes glowing excitedly; Rose smiled.

"I'd like that," she said, and Regina's smile made the whole evening worthwhile, even though half her math homework was waiting upstairs for her to struggle through.

"Well, I'm going to make some tea. Do you want some?" Regina asked, still smiling.

"Peppermint? Um, yes please," Rose smiled. "Um… If it's okay, I'll come back down for it." She lifted her hands, with difficulty, and Regina smiled and went into the kitchen.

Standing at the foot of the stairs, Rose heard voices emanating from the basement. Down below, Doug called out a play-by-play for what sounding like a digital football showdown—in Rose's mind, the biggest waste of time there could be; she didn't understand why boys didn't just pick up a football and go and play for real.

"And Ian's Patriots take the ball on their own thirty-yard line," Doug intoned, lowering his voice to a near-perfect impression of a sports announcer. "Can Ian, the upstart sixth grader, who until recently was still sucking his fruit punch from a sippy cup, beat last year's champion and complete spazmo—all filler, no killer Miller?"

Rose smiled; when he wasn't trying to be an underprivileged black man, Doug could actually be quite funny. Who would have guessed?

"And Brady drops back to pass… He's lookin'… He's lookin'…" Another cheer and Rose heard the slaps of high-fives. "I don't believe it!" Doug shouted. "Ian's got a first down on the fifty-yard line with a bee-yoo-tee-full pass to the wide out. He's as cool as the other side a' the pillow. No one saw that comin', especially not Miller's lame-ass defence. If you can if call it that—_Ow_!"

_Well deserved_, Rose thought, as Miller apparently punched Doug. Something made her want to go and join the boys down in the den, but another part said it would only make Miller uncomfortable, and Doug would hate her for encroaching on what was clearly the boys' place. Instead, she went upstairs and placed her bags on the chaise in the corner, turning on the bedroom lamps, retrieved a glass teacup and saucer of peppermint tea from Regina, and retreated back upstairs to tackle the remainder of her math homework.

She sat down at her desk, moving her MacBook aside so she didn't get tempted to go on Facebook or MSN, opened her textbook, and half an hour she had finished the equations, with a few mishaps and rewrites, and was just closing her math textbook when someone knocked on her bedroom door—which she kept open because she always had at home.

Rose glanced up. It was Evan. He leaned against the door-frame, his hands in his pockets. He was wearing distressed jeans and a powder-blue button-down shirt under a perfectly broken-in brown suede car jacket. _Holy…Abercrombie_…

"Hi," Rose said quietly. Evan's smile was slow and secretive; he glanced into the hallway and slipped into her room, closing the door.

"Hey," he said, grinning briefly, and went to sit on the bench at the end of Rose's bed. "So listen, um, I know you and Mom had a big blitz down at the mall, and you're probably tired from school, but one of my friends is having his birthday party tonight—his parents are still in Europe, so it should be pretty wild—and he asked me to bring _you_ with me."

"Me?" Rose blinked. Evan grinned, sweeping his eyes over her.

"Yeah. All of my friends are real curious about you—and I think you'll really like them," he smiled again.

"Why would your friend ask you to bring _me_ to his party?" Rose asked, her cheeks flushing. Evan laughed.

"You have no idea what effect you have on people, do you?" he murmured, almost to himself. Rose flushed hotter. He grinned. "Come on, Chibs; I know there's a bad-girl in there. I've _seen_ your Facebook albums." Rose really _did_ blush then.

"Oh," she said, her cheeks hot. Evan grinned again, his eyes twinkling. The decision made itself in an instant. "Do I have time to change?"

"Yeah," Evan grinned. "But be quick, if you can. I need to pick up some stuff from the store." _Three guesses what_, Rose thought, smiling bashfully. Evan grinned one last time and left the room; Rose made sure no one was in the climbing-tree before she stripped out of her clothes, slid her closet open, and drew out a casual party-approved outfit; the pair of tiny, light-wash denim shorts she had worn yesterday, and a silk-blend one-shouldered white top; she changed into a pair of white cotton lace-waist bikini bottoms and a white lace Agent Provocateur strapless bra—Rose was a lingerie-snob, and she and her mother had both loved luxury designer lingerie. She touched up her hair and reapplied her makeup, using her favourite coppery-gold eyeshadow and waterproof mascara, a hint of 'Georgia' powder and a soft shimmering pink lip-gloss. She used one of her favourite, tiny purses (the one that had the secret zipper compartment in which was a condom, just in case) and stored her cell-phone and wallet inside, having no house-keys, making sure her fake I.D. was where it had last been.

She met Evan in the downstairs hallway; he had acquired the keys to his Saab and was tossing them in his hand, catching them in his palm with a gentle jingle. As he had after cross-country practice, Evan opened the door for her—the front passenger door this time—and Rose climbed in, tucking her limbs together. While she wasn't a stranger to wild parties, she wasn't used to going to them with anyone but Pogue. At her old school she had been one of the social elite, mostly because of her association with Pogue. She was shy, but popular, and had always been invited to the best parties.

"So…what was your old school like?" Evan asked, as he jammed the keys into the ignition and drove out of the property.

"Um…I don't know, really; I don't know enough of Baker High yet to see a difference," Rose said, shrugging slightly.

"That's true, I guess. But what about your friends. I bet you were one of the popular girls," Evan smiled. Rose felt her cheeks warm pleasantly.

"Um…Yes, I mean… I was," she acknowledged. "My best-friend was really the popular one. Sometimes I'm too shy to really put myself out there."

"But look at you; you don't know anyone except me at this party, but here you are," Evan smiled. He glanced at her and smiled. "It's just my guess, but behind that shy blush, you're really a little bit of a wild child." Rose laughed.

"That's what Pogue says," she smiled affectionately.

"Pogue? Who's Pogue?" Evan frowned, taking a turn.

"Oh—my best-friend. Pogue Alexander. I've known him since I was nine," Rose sighed. "He came over to our house when we moved to North Carolina the first day we got there, and he made me play kiss-chase my first day of school."

"Huh. Now that's an idea," Evan said thoughtfully, shooting a playful grin at her. Rose smiled and blushed. "You miss him," Evan said, and it wasn't a question. Rose nodded. "So…he's your best-friend. Not a boyfriend?"

"No!" Rose laughed. "I mean…sometimes we used to mess around a little bit, but it was never serious. It was just…"

"Experimenting," Evan smiled, his lips twitching as if he was stopping himself from grinning too knowingly. "Yeah, I know what that's like." He glanced at her. "Me and Hailey were the same. She used to live next-door, you know."

"Oh. Pogue's my next-door neighbour, too. Always dangerous."

"Tell me about it. She was always in the climbing-tree, staring through my window with binoculars," Evan sighed, as if he was very put out about that. Rose laughed.

"And here I thought Doug and Ian got that from one of _you_," Rose teased, and Evan laughed, then sobered his expression.

"_Me_, peep on a girl? _Never_!" he gasped, mock-mortified. Rose smiled, knowing that if Hailey had been spying on Evan, he had spent as much time peeping at her.

"And the Playboys in the bathroom?" Rose asked. Evan had the grace to blush at that.

"You saw those?"

"They're not exactly inconspicuous!"

After a stop at the store for some beers—and cupcakes?—Evan drove them up to the security booth of a gated-community, stated he was going to Darnell Wilcox's house, and navigated round the gated community of mansions that didn't nearly equal the McGowans' gorgeous house. Before they had even pulled into the driveway of the house that was obviously the location of Darnell Wilcox's birthday-party, Rose saw rippling blonde hair, and felt a surge of irritation as Hailey Farmer came jogging down the garden path. Music blasted from inside the house—the front-door being wide-open—and Rose could hear loud laughter and even louder conversation, the soft chink of glasses and bottles, and the splash of water, for some reason. She could only guess that Darnell Wilcox had a pool.

No sooner had Evan parked on the curb than Hailey was sticking her head through the open driver's window.

"Hey, baby," she said, grabbing his face through the open window and giving him a long, possessive kiss. Rose wanted to retch. She was used to people displaying affection; her parents had been so in love with each other that they couldn't go five minutes without a peck on the lips, holding hands, an arm around a waist. But this was ridiculous. But also, she hadn't realised, stupid of her, that when Evan had mentioned a party, that Hailey would be invited too. Rose stifled a heavy sigh and stepped out of the car. Hailey had straightened, her smile smug.

"Oh. Hey," she said, flicking her eyes over Rose. If Rose hadn't seen her at cross-country practice, she would have said cheerleader; Hailey had that kind of fierce, condescending attitude that defined the cheerleaders at her school in North Carolina. Hailey's little Abercrombie outfit could certainly pass for a cheerleader uniform.

"Hi," Rose smiled, hoping that if she put an effort into being friendly to her, the girl would take a hint and improve her attitude towards her. "How's it going?"

"Fine," Hailey replied, not even looking at her. "You?"

"Good," Rose said happily. And it was true. She was tired, and feeling really good after cross-country practice and the tidal wave of giddiness she'd gotten from being invited onto the varsity team her first day, having spent a few really good hours being a girl with Regina, and finishing her day's homework, but she was good.

"Come on, Chibs," Evan smiled as he slammed his car-door and locked it, slinging an arm around Hailey's broad shoulders. Rose felt tiny in comparison to the taller girl. Maybe it was Hailey's utterly contemptuous expression when Evan had used her nickname. "Don't be nervous, okay—they're all gonna love you."

When he and Hailey turned up the path towards the house, Rose could have sworn she heard Hailey say, "Why'd you bring _her_?" Evan shot his girlfriend a dark look, and Rose thought it better to lose them as quickly as possible.

There were perhaps two or three dozen kids from junior and senior year at Baker High, scattered about the living-room and the outdoor patio of the mansion; music blared and the gorgeous open-plan kitchen had been turned into a bar. A blender whirred with margaritas and one already slightly tipsy guy in a varsity football letterman was trying to impress a couple of cheerleader-types with his skills with a cocktail-shaker—and failing. The TV was on, and several people were playing Guitar Hero, and the coffee-table had been converted into a beer-pong table. Outside in the lingering sunlight, on the illuminated patio, which was strung with twinkling lights and lanterns, someone in Kiss the Cook apron was grilling burgers and kebabs and sausages and ribs, and drinking two beers at once, and a group of kids at the patio table were playing Ring of Fire.

"Everyone!" Evan shouted, and dozens of people shouted their hellos and raised their drinks in salute. "This is Rose! Rose, this is everyone!" Rose smiled and waved awkwardly, suddenly all eyes on her. Several people waved and halloed and smiled at her. "Be right back," Evan said, kissing Hailey's cheek, and walked off to the kitchen for some beers and to greet Cocktail-Shaker Guy, leaving Rose standing beside Hailey. She glanced at Hailey out of the corner of her eye, already wishing she was tipsy. Tipsy-Rose was braver and flirtier than sober Rose. Everyone at her old school knew that. Tipsy-Rose was fierce, and nobody gainsaid Tipsy-Rose when she was on a mission. Whether it was walking to their favourite diner at seven a.m. in their pyjamas, still drunk, or getting out of the comfiest bed so _she_ could sleep there, they did it. Hailey wouldn't dare look at Tipsy-Rose the way she had at cross-country practice earlier this afternoon.

She licked her lips. There was nothing for it. If Hailey wanted to be a bitch, she could, but Rose wouldn't give her any reason to be so. "So, Hailey…What was the team's score last year?"

Hailey shrugged. "We won more meets than we lost. Why? Worried the team's not good enough for you?" Rose's cheeks flushed at the sting.

"No," she frowned, liking Hailey less and less with each passing second. "I was just being polite and trying to show an interest. That's all."

Hailey sighed heavily, as if it were the worst thing in the world to actually turn to look at her. "We made it to counties, but we didn't win the final meet. Of course, Coach Smith thinks that with you around, it'll happen this year."

Her tone implied _Hailey_ didn't think anything nearly so complimentary. In the back of her mind, she heard Pogue's voice, urging her to bitch-slap the attitude right out of this girl, but she just sighed, and glanced at Hailey. If she didn't take this opportunity, to nip it in the bud now, before it got too bad, when would she?

"You don't like me very much, do you?" she said quietly.

For a split-second, she thought Hailey's face may have softened, and she realised that she might actually be quite pretty if she wasn't always scowling, but a second later Rose thought she must have imagined it, for Hailey scowled and scoffed, before strutting off to Evan.

The sensitive, shy part of Rose took that slight to heart. She didn't know what she had done wrong to deserve the attitude from Hailey, and it hurt more than anyone might have guessed looking at her that a complete stranger would behave so to her. But the logical part of her brain, the part that helped her with Pogue, keeping him in line and making sure _she_ didn't do anything she might regret—like ever _not_ wearing leathers when she rode a motorcycle ever again—told her that if Hailey hadn't been able to give her a clear, intelligible response, she really had no reason not to like Rose, just didn't want her to know that. Evan broke away from the crowd of football player-types at the kitchen island already chugging beers, amid loud cheers, and Hailey saw him coming. She glanced at Evan, then at Rose, and reached out her arm to him.

"Come on, baby," she said, latching onto his side. Rose could have sworn she'd nibbled his ear. "Let's go find someplace more private."

"Cool," Evan said, handing Rose one of the beers. Rose stifled a shudder at the unflattering image she had just gotten in her head, and took the beer. "Go introduce yourself around, Chibs. The guys are dying to meet you," he added with a wink. Rose stood, watching Hailey's triumphant smirk as they retreated to a lesser staircase, raised the beer-bottle to her lips, and downed it in three gulps. The guys playing beer-pong cheered and one of them grabbed her and begged her to join his team.

Four beers later, Rose stood outside on the patio, the last bite of a juicy burger in her hand, sitting on the outdoor marble kitchenette counter, which was packed with food, swinging her legs childishly and chatting to Darnell Wilcox, the chief griller, host and birthday-boy, who had demanded birthday-kisses before he'd give her the burger Rose knew she'd need if she planned on _not_ passing out before midnight. Rose wasn't a lightweight, far from it; she just didn't know how to pace herself, and drank too quickly, as if drinking a glass of water or juice.

"You know, this is the best dang Jell-O I've ever had," Rose said, picking up one of the little colourful plastic shots of Jell-O. They were small, but packed one hell of a punch.

"Made 'em myself," Darnell said proudly, grinning lazily; he'd been drinking steadily since three, he'd claimed, and his eyes were bleary and his kisses sloppy enough to attest to that. Rose giggled. "They've got…They've got vodka, and rum…and gin…and…hey! Who turned out the lights! Rosie, was that _you_?"

Rose giggled. The world was good again, now that she was buzzing on alcohol and having a good time, Hailey forgotten. Several people had digital cameras and were snapping photographs every few seconds. Rose reached up and tugged the Birthday Boy crown higher on Darnell's head, so his eyes were freed.

"Oh, tha's better," Darnell slurred, smiling adorably. "You know, Rosie, I like you, I really do. You're _nice_. You're not like a lot of those other," Darnell glanced around and his expression turned adorably naïve and impish at the same time, "_bitches_ at school." He giggled and covered his mouth with his hand like a naughty schoolboy, and Rose giggled; he took a sip of beer as Rose downed another shot, and handed her the beer to hold. "You know, I'm so glad that you moved in with Evan, and that he brought you to my party. It's my birthday, you know?" Rose giggled, and told him she did know, and escaped him quickly enough that he couldn't corner her for birthday-kisses.

She made the rounds around the pool; some people were swimming, others just sitting at the side in underwear and boxers, and Rose talked to any and everyone, and made sure the guy lying on one of the pool-chairs was actually still alive. Yes, he was, just heavily intoxicated and fast-asleep; the music covered the sounds of his snores, and one of his friends went to go and find a Sharpie from inside.

Back on the patio, armed with Jell-O shots and snacks, she was invited to play a game of Ring of Fire—when she'd gotten another drink from the kitchen—a margarita this time—and was laughing with some of Evan's lacrosse buddies, and the two guys on the varsity cross-country team, and some of Hailey's friends when she drew the last king.

"_No_!" she wailed, covering her face with her hands. She knew what had gone into the pitcher in the centre of the circle of cards, a potent mixture of gin, rum, vodka, tequila, sambuka, ouzo, Jack Daniels, beer, cider, Southern Comfort, margarita, Jell-O shots and wine. "I can't drink it!"

"Chug, chug, chug!" the guys all chanted, and, glad she had already digested her burger, Rose took a deep breath and let it out.

"Alright, alright," she laughed, fending off the guys who were pushing the pitcher on her. "Hang on!" Knowing how the pitcher in Ring of Fire worked, Rose slipped her top over her head—amid raucous yells and cheers from the guys and drunken peals of giggles from the girls—and cast it onto the patio chair behind her, stood up, and took hold of the pitcher, took a deep breath, and raised it to her lips.

She did it. She chugged down every last drop of that disgusting, killer mix. The boys were cheering and yelling themselves hoarse, the girls had collapsed with giggles, and she set the empty pitcher down on the table, feeling very dizzy. Giggling, the alcohol going _straight_ to her head, she was snapped up in photographs with the boys all hugging her.

She traipsed over to the grill, grabbed some snacks and a dessert, and went to pout at Darnell, who had taken her seat at the table, before he grabbed her hips and set her on his lap, wrapping his arms around her waist. She was feeding him cheese-puffs and nachos with seven-layer dip when a cheer echoed around the garden, and sparkly-eyed Evan slinked out, looking well-sexed. A hickey throbbed near his collar-bone. Even drunk, she didn't want to think where else Hailey's lips had been.

"Nice hickey. Back from your sex?" Rose asked innocently, smiling at Evan. She had had enough alcohol that she thought she could even be nice to that bitch Hailey who didn't like her. Laughter echoed around the patio and garden, and Evan _blushed_.

"Rose…you're topless," Evan laughed; his voice sounded slurred, and Rose laughed.

"I won Ring of Fire!"

"You didn't _win_! You lost!"

"You lost so bad!"

"I won! I did win!" Rose protested against the drunken shouts, pouting and then laughing. "I did win. I won the big drink. The _big…big_ drink." She motioned with her hands, and grimaced, then grinned at Evan. She settled back against Darnell's now-bare chest (strip-I Never had taken a turn for the worst for him, and he was now down to a cocktail napkin and socks, with Rose straddling one of his knees. Rose still had her underwear, as she had begun the game without her shirt. Everyone at the table was partially naked, something one of the girls pointed out that Evan _wasn't_. A new game of strip beer-pong began, with Rose as Evan's partner, against Darnell and the boy from the cross-country team, the good-looking one who had almost kept up with her.

After strip beer-pong had Evan down to his boxers, the music windows were opened so the music could be better heard, and they were all dancing—grinding, freaking, really—on the patio in their underwear, and then singing Happy Birthday at the top of their lungs when Darnell shouted that it was his birthday and that they had to worship him.

Rose sobered up for a little while, munching steadily on nachos and tater tots Darnell had found in the freezer and grilled, enough to join cross-country guy and some other girls in the pool in only her panties—so she didn't ruin her bra with the chlorine, of course!

"Rose…Rosie…_Rosalie_…" Evan's voice was slurred, and he was barely wearing his boxers; they were so low on his hips another inch would have been indecent; he staggered to his knees at the side of the pool, and then groaned as he lay down, clinging to the pavement, then shot her a wicked, sparkly-eyed grin when she swam over to him.

"What is it, cupcake?" Rose asked, for his boxers were for some reason printed with cupcakes.

"Rosie…I think…I think I want something to drink." Rose giggled.

"Well there's the bar, silly," she said, treading water, and pointed to the outdoor kitchenette.

"I think…I think I want a nap, instead."

"Oh, no, don't go to sleep! Lightweight!" Rose teased; Evan grumbled and smiled sleepily. She doused him with pool-water. He blinked at her, eyes wide, and then grinned devilishly before slipping into the pool and rough-housing with her. When her arms got too tired of treading-water and soaking Evan and playing with him, Rose climbed out of the pool, careful to cover her breasts, wary of the photographers, and scuttled over to a stack of fluffy beach towels by the kitchenette. Another game was halfway through and Rose, feeling the chill as she had never felt it at house-parties in North Carolina, went inside, wrapped in the towel, to curl up in the big armchair with cute cross-country guy, watching a movie. She didn't even know what it was; the colours blurred and the noise was all the same, and cute cross-country guy was very warm and comfy, and his soft snores were the last thing she heard, before Darnell threw a blanket over them, smoothing Rose's hair and kissing her forehead, acting extremely sweetly for someone so totally shit-faced.

* * *

**A.N.**: Okay, more like a uni party than a high-school party! Ring of Fire is always my downfall! I've never been good at card-games. Not even Spoons.


	7. Aftermath

**Rose Amongst Thorns**

Chapter Seven

_Aftermath_

* * *

Rose woke up. It wasn't the slow, gradual awakening she was used to, gentle and refreshing. She woke up, completely and unavoidably, with a crick in her neck and the distinct impression that the world had turned into a spinning-top.

The house—wherever she was, and whatever she was sat curled up on and against—was dark, only the sounds of water rippling subtly in a gentle breeze that swept pleasantly through the open windows. Open windows? Nobody ever had their windows open in North Carolina… She blinked, and the darkness ebbed slightly, enough that she could see that this wasn't any house she had ever been to in North Carolina, and more to the point, it looked like a hurricane had just blown through it, bottles and empty bowls and bodies tossed here and there with Guitar Hero controllers and decks of cards and crushed potato chips and the remnants of barbecue on paper plates scattered around.

And then the whole night came crashing into Rose's memory and she glanced down at the boy on whom she had been sleeping. In sleep, he looked angelic, in a dark-haired way, his lips plump from kissing—not _her_, she remembered. Darnell, and Evan. Truth or Dare. Rose grinned to herself at the memory and the knowledge that someone had videoed the whole thing on their digital camera.

The darkness gradually seeped away as Rose carefully disentangled herself from cute cross-country guy, and looked around the den. There was Darnell, still wearing his birthday-boy crown—he had managed to find a change of clothes after his had been thrown in the pool—and Evan, lying on his stomach in front of the TV, snoring gently, his hand still curled around a beer bottle, wearing only his boxers. There were countless other people Rose barely knew the names of, and _mess_.

Rose hated mess. She didn't mind organised clutter, but mess like this made her cringe. Securing her towel around her torso tighter, Rose picked her way through the room, picking up empty bottles and paper plates and discarded clothing; she tugged a trash-bag from under the kitchen sink and started filling it with trash, and found her way to the laundry-room, piling all the sodden clothes she found tossed around the room and the backyard—she had to repossess Darnell's clothing, several glasses and empty bottles from the bottom of the pool, which woke her up because it was so cold—into the dryer, and started cleaning up the outdoor kitchenette and the patio.

Rose jumped into one of the upstairs showers—the one that she guessed was Darnell's en-suite because the bedroom was football-themed and very messy, with the sheets rumpled and freshly stained; she dried off and found a hairdryer, and jumped when the thing started whirring out hot air, the noise startling her; she crept downstairs with her towel wrapped around her, took back her underwear, bra, top and shorts, dressed, and continued tidying up, as the darkness dwindled into a pretty forget-me-not blue dawn tinged with purple and gold. She found the coffee grounds and filled the filter in the coffeemaker and found clean mugs in the cupboard, put glasses and plates into the dishwasher. She found her purse, checked she still had everything in her wallet, and drew out her cell-phone.

_Tues, 31 Aug_. _05:49_.

"Tuesday?" Rose frowned at the screen, which was going blurry and sparkling at her. Despite her shower—and helping herself to cereal and toast—the world to Rose was still that fun, tilt-a-whirl place it was when she was drinking. She blinked, and aligned her thoughts. It was Tuesday morning…and yesterday she had been at school, surely, because she had seen most of these kids outside on the steps after cross-country try-outs.

"Oh _shit_!" Rose squeaked, glancing over at Evan; she hopped over the boys snuggled together under a beach-towel and fell to her knees next to Evan. She shook him roughly.

"Evan—Ev," Rose grumbled, shaking him; she dragged him onto his back. He grumbled and swiped lazily at her, sighing. "Evan—_wake up_!" She slapped him round the face, and he jumped awake.

"Wha's wrong?" he grumbled, his eyes at half-mast. She showed him the screen of her phone, the time illuminated. It took him a few seconds.

"_Shit!_"

"Your parents are gonna kill us," Rose said, her cheeks burning with shame and dread. Her parents had been very relaxed about curfew; they knew if Rose wasn't at home, she was with Pogue, and Pogue _always_ took care of her.

"Yeah, they might—No—no, they won't, it's okay," Evan said, lumbering to a stand; he clutched his head and made a noise that might have been a groan and an attempt not to retch. "'S okay—I have a plan."

"You do?" Rose blinked. "What is it?"

"Havin' six brothers comes in handy _sometimes_," Evan murmured, with a slightly crooked smile. "Do you know where my cell-phone is?" Rose helped him pick his way through the bodies thrown over the den and took his clothes out of the dryer, and handed him the tub of cell-phones she had collected with digital-cameras around the room. Evan frowned and took a long time deciding which phone was his; he picked out a shiny gunmetal-silver Blackberry and punched in a number, and waited.

"Sean… Yeah. Run interference scenario three," Evan mumbled. "…Yeah, she's with me—looking _real_ chipper for the amount she drank last night."

"Hark who's talking," Rose said softly, sticking her tongue out. She and Evan had drunk just as much as each other, but Rose had had a lot more to eat last night, before and during the party. Evan had been with Hailey until after Darnell turned off the grill (well, before the grilled tater-tots).

"Yeah, we'll come back to the house to get everyone else," Evan mumbled, on a sigh. "Thanks, dude." He hung up, and Rose glanced around the room.

"I guess we should probably get everyone else up," she said, biting her lip.

"Hm? Oh, yeah, probably," Evan grumbled, almost falling over as he tried to pull his jeans on. Rose steadied him, and he shot her a grateful glance. "How're you so…_non-hungover_?"

"Oh, I am, trust me," Rose smiled. "Actually, I think I might still be drunk. You?"

"_Definitely_ still a little drunk," Evan said, clutching his head. "You always forget the morning after when you're enjoying the night before."

"Speaking of—where's Hailey?"

"She left around half-eleven. She has a midnight curfew on school-nights," Evan sighed. "I thought this place was messier."

"Oh…It was. I cleaned," Rose said, blushing. He glanced at her, raised his eyebrows, and then smiled a laugh.

"You're a strange girl, Rose," he chuckled affectionately. "Come on, let's get 'em awake. They won't like us." Rose nodded, went over to the TV and put MTV on, loud, so the music woke them, as Evan picked his way through the room shaking people and helping them off the floor. Rose filled the mugs with strong black coffee and found the sugar bowl and half-and-half, and went around handing out the mugs, to very grateful half-smiles and thanks. Darnell staggered upstairs back to bed.

Rose picked up the beach-towels strewn across the room; she helped cute cross-country to the nearest bathroom so he could vomit, and doled out the still-warm clothes to their respective owners, and helped clean up the den, kitchen and patio as best she could.

"Hey, you wanna go get breakfast?" Evan asked, staggering toward Rose, almost chugging back strong black coffee.

"What'd you have in mind?" Rose smiled.

"Well…after a night out like this, we usually go to our favourite diner," Evan smiled, indicating his friends, who were all drinking strong black coffee and grimacing, clutching their heads—or running off to the bathroom, clutching their stomachs. Evan's friends… Last night, though fun, would have been epic if Pogue had been here with her. Well, he'd see the photos on Facebook by tonight, she guessed.

"Sure. That sounds like a good idea," Rose smiled tiredly. She'd need something for her headache. "Hey, d'you know where there's any aspirin?"

"Um…check in Darnell's medicine cabinet," Evan said. "Hey, who wants to go get breakfast at Jim's?"

There was a general grumble of agreement, that a big breakfast probably _would_ be a good idea before going to school, and while Rose searched his medicine cabinet for aspirin and Pepto Bismol, Evan hauled an ashen-faced Darnell downstairs to get some coffee and food in him, and before six a.m. had even struck the clock, Rose climbed into the already-toasty passenger seat of Evan's Saab. A small fleet of cars followed Evan's to a grocery-store plaza that featured a Mexican fast-food restaurant, a Chinese takeout, a bagel shop, hair salon, a trophy store, a huge grocery store, an ice-cream parlour, dance studio and after-school homework help place, a Gymboree, a pet store, nail-salon, a Blockbuster, and a scrapbooking and craft store that instantly caught Rose's notice.

There were about a half-dozen of them, and walking into Jim's Diner, a bright, airy place that smelled of coffee and maple syrup, with soft country music that sounded like Alison Kraus playing and a fan whirring just inside the door, they were met by a smiling young-woman in a plain white t-shirt and jeans and an apron tied around her hips, who couldn't be older than nineteen or twenty, and seemed to know everyone in the group save Rose.

"Hey Taylor," Evan rumbled softly, giving her a hug. "You got a table for us?"

"Yeah, sure. You need coffee?" 'Taylor' asked, and Evan laughed under his breath.

"Do you even need to ask; _lots_ of coffee, please; no decaf, and lots of soda," Evan smiled amiably; the girl led them to a booth and added another table and two chairs, and quickly took their drinks orders and handed them menus. Rose sat down opposite Evan and a beautiful Middle Eastern girl sat down next to her—Vithya, Rose thought her name was—and she was looking at her menu but couldn't quite focus on the letters. It was cosy and warm in the diner and the low talking of Evan's friends and the laughter of Taylor made her feel nice and drowsy.

"Rose!" someone nudged her leg under the table, and her elbow slipped; her chin almost crashed into the table when she fell; she blinked.

"What?" she asked. Had she fallen asleep; Evan, looking peaky but not as bleary as before, was smiling at her.

"You fell asleep, babe. What do you want to eat?"

"Oh…a big waffle and a cup of fruit, please," Rose said, her cheeks flushing as she glanced at the menu hastily, then handed it to the waitress. Rose hadn't noticed her arrive with drinks; brown mugs of steaming coffee littered the table, along with tall plastic glasses filled with everything from lemonade to Pepsi to orange soda to juice to milkshakes. Evan smiled at her across the table and pushed her coffee mug toward her.

"Drink up, baby; interference scenario number three won't work if you start falling asleep," Evan smiled. Rose grumbled; she hated coffee; instead, she clasped her tall Pepsi and drank most of it, asking Taylor for a refill before she went off to put their orders in.

"So, what's interference scenario number three?" Rose asked him, licking her lips of sugary-sweet soda, and fidgeting slightly next to Vithya, who was drinking her ice-water very slowly, with some aspirins. Evan grinned.

"It's where Sean tells mom and dad that I took you out for breakfast this morning, and we'll be coming back to the house to collect Finn and the others," Evan smiled.

"Sneaky. How often do you use that cover?"

"Not as often as you'd think," Evan laughed, his eyes twinkling. "Scenario one is better for everyday use. What about you—how d'you avoid your parents' rules?" Evan's expression went a little stark, his eyes widening with alarm, and he stammered. "Er—I—Sorry, Rose, I—"

"Pogue usually comes up with excuses," Rose said, cutting him off. "My parents never really gave me a curfew when I started going out to parties and stuff, so just as long as I actually came home or called, it was okay. They knew if I was with Pogue I'd be taken care of."

"He your body-guard _and_ your best-friend?" Evan smiled.

"Well, he's six-foot-eight and rides a Harley, so what's your guess?" Rose smiled. "People don't tend to mess with anyone if _Pogue's_ around." Taylor returned with the coffee refill jug and fresh sodas; she put a fresh-fruit cup in front of Rose and smiled. Evan reached over and stole one of the strawberries.

Considering most of them were horrendously hungover—Darnell was still a little bit drunk and was having trouble navigating his straw—the conversation was quiet, and stinted; only after their breakfasts arrived did conversation pick up, just as other customers started arriving for their breakfasts, and Rose demolished her huge Belgian waffle, her fruit-cup, and helped Evan finish his hash-browns and one of his pancakes, drank a ton of soda, a mug of coffee, and forked over some cash to put toward the bill.

She and Evan left, and Rose sat drowsily in the front passenger seat, warm and sleepy, the food having done a world of good.

"Won't your parents suspect us if we look like we haven't slept all night?" Rose asked, as they neared the McGowans' house.

"Nah. They'll just think we're not used to getting up early for school," Evan shrugged. "That's the only good thing about going back to school." Rose chuckled softly and smiled, but her smile faded when she realised she would have to wait hours till she could sleep. She had had a little nap, yes, on cute cross-country guy, but she would crash by midday. _I'll just have to keep drinking soda_, Rose thought to herself, as Evan turned into the McGowan's property, and up toward the house. They climbed out of the car, and before they'd even entered the house they heard the pandemonium of the kitchen.

* * *

This was the bit Rose was good at. Pretending she was sober in front of her parents. She had developed mimicking sobriety when she was completely shit-faced into an art. Taking a deep breath, she rearranged her expression and walked a little more slowly, taking care not to look around too quickly or talk too loudly. That was the key.

"I'll be back in a sec," Rose said, and slowly walked upstairs; when she reached her room, she got a dizzy spell and had to stand very still for a minute, then slowly made her way around her room, noticing someone had put cushions and pillows under her duvet in mimicry of a person sleeping; she sorted out her bed, replaced her math notebook in her slouchy black matte-leather bag, picked up her running sneakers in their dust-bag, made sure she had the twenty bucks for her cross-country uniform, and quickly changed into one of the pretty Top Shop tops Regina had bought her—was it only yesterday? It seemed like so long ago. She buttoned the lace-embellished floral cami, tied the ruched waist tie into a bow, pulled on some studded brown sandals and did the buckles up, put some product in her hair to make her blow-dried locks beachy and soft, put on some makeup and some perfume, and drained the last of the water from the bottle in her bag.

Downstairs in the kitchen, she was a little unnerved about seeing Regina, but she was nowhere to be seen. Instead, Sean was silently watching over his younger brothers. Finn's eyes flicked to Rose when she entered the kitchen through the swinging door, and Rose made her way to the fridge, filling her bottle with ice-water.

"Long night, huh," Finn murmured to her, sidling up to take something out of the fridge. Rose just grumbled softly, and Finn laughed. "It's alright; Evan's already told me I'm driving us to school. How was breakfast?"

"Good. Jim's is a good restaurant," Rose said, sipping some ice-water.

"Yeah; it's our favourite," Finn smiled. "Sucks you had to go there with a hangover, though."

"Tell me about it," Rose said dully; Finn just smiled.

"Take a can of soda from the cupboard," he advised, nodding at the door to the pantry, which was stocked like a bomb-shelter in the middle of London during the Blitz. Regina must have bought out Costco—or at least have shares! With her bag stocked with a can of Pepsi, a Fruit Leather, granola bar and apple, Rose walked with Finn out to the car; because Finn was driving, Miller had made sure Rose sat behind him again, on the opposite end of the backseat, whilst Evan groaned and lowered himself carefully into the front passenger seat.

School passed in a blur of noise, light and dizziness if she moved too quickly. By break-time, she was already exhausted, and downed her soda, with the Fruit Leather, apple and granola bar, and gym was okay; she didn't get her nose bloodied again, but she kept tripping over herself chasing after the basketball, and couldn't wait until enough admin stuff had been done so they could get into the pool for their swimming unit. Miss Willow was facing away from her and Pearl's table during Art, so Rose had a much-needed nap, and felt _so_ much better for it. Pearl had made her another two bracelets while she napped, and Finn had sketched her while she slept, her head resting against her hand, her elbow on the desk. Darnell found her at lunchtime in the courtyard, eating a bowl of chilli and some home-style fries, an apple, a honey yoghurt, another can of soda, some orange juice and the rest of her water; he came to thank her for, firstly, coming to his party even though it was her first night in a new town, and, secondly, for cleaning up his house. She filled her water bottle before AP English, having gone through about six of them already, and was a little more recovered from her long night by that class and was able to play Hermia in the first scene of _A Midsummer Night's Dream_. She fell asleep for a few minutes during Math, but nobody except Aimee (whom she hadn't realised was in that class with her) noticed.

By the time cross-country practice came around, Rose was exhausted but running on adrenaline and caffeine; she bought her uniform, changed into her sneakers and pulled her hair in a ponytail, and halfway through practice, after she had finished her three-mile run and then some, she had to escort cute cross-country guy back to the boys' locker-rooms so he could vomit spectacularly in the bathroom.

Showering after practice woke her up again, using the cold water, and she let her hair down, changed back into her tiny sculpted shorts and camisole and jewellery, reapplied some eyeshadow and mascara and perfume, and met Evan outside the school.

"I'll be more attentive tomorrow, I promise," Rose mumbled to Aimee, who had been highly amused all day since Pearl had told her Rose had fallen asleep during Art, and having witnessed her falling asleep during Math, and _still_ setting the pace during practice. Even Hailey, who had left the party before midnight, having been picked up by Aimee because she'd drunk so much, was greener around the gills than Rose. But then, she wasn't a lightweight, and she _had_ eaten well before going to the party and during it. That was probably only what had saved her. That, and the breakfast at Jim's and the frequent shots of caffeine in the form of Pepsi cans throughout the day.

Evan had heard she was good at History and came into her room after school to ask for her help with his first History assignment. Their books spread out over Rose's bed, they both fell asleep, and slept through dinner.

Regina attributed this, the next morning, to tiredness from sports practice, and couldn't fathom how Rose _liked_ running miles and miles every day. Rose loved it; it burned off her food _and_ the booze she had consumed at Darnell's party, and set her body's equilibrium back on level.

But that was the last time she was ever going to drink heavily on a school night. Aimee had emailed her a scan of her Math notes so Rose could do her homework, which she had to do during lunch on Wednesday.

Rose still couldn't believe that she and Evan had gotten away with not coming _home_ on a school-night. Missing curfew, she was sure Regina and John could understand. But it was more that John and Regina hadn't even _noticed_ she and Evan hadn't come home that made _Rose_ feel anxious.

* * *

On Wednesday night, Rose spent an hour writing in a brand-new eco-friendly cardboard Letter-sized journal that tied closed with a black ribbon, writing everything that had happened since she had parked out near the barn on Sunday afternoon, punctuating her writings with drawings, mementos and things like phone-numbers, a coloured sketch of Pearl's bracelet, the Wildcats logo, and a print of a painting she had found on Google; 'Carnival and Lent,' by Cecily Brown, and which perfectly put into paint and canvas the last few days, a blur of motion, colour, senses, chaos. She printed another on glossy photo paper to put up on her wall.

After she had finished her homework and they'd had dinner, Evan drove her out to Logan after dark, to watch the planes take off. Rose avoided alcohol this time, and she and Evan's friends had a good time around the little campfire they had made, making S'mores and (the others) drinking beer. Every time a plane took off over their heads, barely clearing the tree-tops of the wood in which Hailey and Evan, and then Darnell and a girl Rose didn't know disappeared into, they would roar and scream themselves hoarse. Rose and cute cross-country guy (whose name was Jake) were lying on the hood of Darnell's car, their fingers intertwined, and sharing their first beer, gazing up at the stars, and having a low, slurred conversation because they were tired, not because they were drunk.

"Jake…Do you think there's really such a thing as heaven?" Rose asked quietly, gazing up at the twinkling stars. They were bigger and brighter than she had ever seen them in North Carolina, because everywhere here was pitch-black, save the campfire, and Alex running across the field with his sneakers on fire, two small flashing beacons in otherwise perfect darkness.

"This isn't gonna turn into a religious debate, is it?" Jake asked. When not vomiting, Jake was very smart and very cute, and very playful. He reminded her of Pogue, which was probably why they got along so well already.

"No," Rose laughed softly. "Just answer the question. Do you think there's people we've lost, gazing down on us all the time?"

"Well, I'd hope not _all_ the time," Jake remarked, and Rose laughed. "It'd give me a bit of a complex about taking my clothes off, wouldn't it?"

"I doubt that," Rose laughed softly, and Jake pinched her playfully.

"What about you—do you think there's a heaven?" Jake asked. Rose sighed heavily, gazing up at the stars.

"I've been trying to decide," she admitted quietly. Those stars looked so far away, so how could anything be higher than them, where the angels lived? If indeed that was where heaven was, and not on another plane, like another dimension, in the novels she read. "I know—well, I _hope_—that there's a place where children go if they die," she said quietly, licking her lips, having difficulty swallowing. Her chest ached dully.

"Neverland," Jake said softly, and Rose smiled to herself. Lucia had loved Peter Pan. She used to sing Maggie's song from _Hook_ over and over again for hours. For a while, they just lay back in silence, watching the stars; shouting at the planes had gotten old for Rose very quickly, and she closed her eyes whenever one soared overhead.

"Hey. You guys having fun?"

Rose glanced up and peered in the moonlight at Evan, who was hovering over her and eyeing the fingers she had entwined with Jake's with a strange look on his face.

"You ready to go?" Rose asked, blinking up at him. Given how she had spent her last two nights—drinking heavily, and hungover and sleeping it off—she _really_ wanted to go home and have a good night's sleep _in_ her bed, _under_ her covers, not curled up in Jake's lap or surrounded by pointy-cornered textbooks and Evan's snoring.

"Already?" Hailey asked, reaching for Evan's hand with both of hers. "I've barely talked to anybody."

Rose frowned. "Well whose fault is that?" Just because she hadn't had sex with Evan in, oh, a _day_, she'd dragged Evan off two hours ago and this was the first time all night Rose had seen either of them anywhere near the campfire. Evan shot Rose a pleading look and Rose's good mood slipped away. She had been having a nice night, chatting with Jake and Vithya and Darnell, she just really wanted to get some good sleep in.

"It's alright," Jake sighed heavily. "I'm over this anyway. I'll take you home, Rose. You don't mind motorcycles, do you?"

"Er—No," Rose grinned.

"Umm…" Evan said, looking a little uncomfortable.

"Evan, I lived on the back of Pogue's Harley," Rose said, tilting her head to one side as she looked up at him. "You're not scared of me falling off, are you?"

"I—No. It's just…Mom and Dad…"

"You don't have to babysit me," Rose said quietly, her cheeks flushing. Evan blushed and smiled.

"Okay, I guess… Hey, just…The spare key is under the mat at the back-door of the kitchen," he said quietly. "Everyone's probably still awake if you can't find it…"

"Okay," Rose smiled. "Well…enjoy the rest of your night."

Jake handed her a spare motorcycle helmet and Rose climbed onto the back of his 2000 Indian 'Chief,' taking Jake's waist and clamping the bike between her thighs. The engine roared into life, and Rose closed her eyes, living in the moment, hearing the roar of the engine and the wind whistling past her ears, tousling her hair, feeling the vibration of the engine, the warmth of Jake's body against hers. Just movement, no boundaries; freedom. She and Pogue just used to get on his bike and drive around for hours, going no-place special but just driving, enjoying the speed and the freedom and power. Jake dropped her almost at the porch steps; he grinned and took back his helmet.

"Thanks," Rose smiled. "That was fun."

"Anytime," Jake smiled. He really did have a very pretty smile.

"Your shocks, though, need some work," Rose remarked, now feeling the difference in riding on back of Jake's bike than Pogue's. Jake's eyebrows flew up.

"What's wrong with my shocks?"

"I think you need another in rear," Rose shrugged. Jake's eyes narrowed.

"You know bikes?"

"I know some," Rose smiled, her cheeks flushing. "My daddy restored vintage Harleys. Since he didn't have any sons, he kinda had to make do with what he had—me."

"Alright, well, maybe one afternoon we can go to the parts store in town," Jake smiled easily. "You can show me what I need to improve my bike."

"Well—It's a beautiful bike," Rose said, smiling shyly. "Just, another shock would make the ride more comfortable for passengers. Trust me," she added, with a wince. Jake chuckled.

"Alright. I'll catch you tomorrow at practice," he said, offering his knuckles to knock; Rose pressed her knuckles against his and he smiled, adjusted the strap of his helmet, kicked the bike into life, and left.

Rose walked around the house to the kitchen back-door and checked under the mat, unlocked the door, and grabbed a glass of ice-water before heading upstairs; Regina smiled and waved from the living-room, drinking hot tea and reading a thick novel.

"You're home early," she smiled. "Where's Evan?"

"Um…He and Hailey are still in Logan," Rose said, licking her lips.

"Was that Jake Salvatore's bike I heard?" Regina asked, smiling subtly. Rose nodded.

"I think so—well, I don't know his last name," Rose blushed. Regina smiled.

"He's a sweet guy. Beautiful, too," Regina smiled again. "I can tell you, he doesn't let just anyone ride on his bike with him."

"Probably cos there aren't enough shocks to make it comfortable," Rose said quietly, and Regina laughed outright.

"Oh, no, you insulted his baby?" she chuckled. "He'll be after your blood!"

"He asked me to come with him to the parts store in town to get new shocks," Rose smiled, blushing hotly. Regina practically beamed.

"Do you like him?" she asked. Rose blushed and shrugged. She liked _talking_ to him, yes; he was a sweet guy, and very playful, but serious at the same time when he needed or wanted to be. He had great arms from weight-training, which was a big thing for Rose. But did she like him in _that_ way? She had only just gotten to town; she would wait a few more weeks before looking into the male market.

"I don't know him, really. He's on the varsity cross-country team," Rose said.

"How's that going, by the way?" Regina asked.

"Good."

"You and Evan should go running together," Regina said thoughtfully. "He needs to push himself this season, if he wants the scouts looking."

"I heard he's hoping to play ice-hockey?" Rose said, hating that she'd heard it from _Hailey_ that first day after cross-country practice.

"Yup," Regina beamed. "Evan's hoping for Michigan or Minnesota."

"So far away?" Regina's eyes darkened sadly for a second, but then she smiled.

"John and I don't mind so much where he goes, just that he _does_," Regina said. Rose's parents had been the same; they knew she wasn't going to be an astrophysicist or an astronaut or heart-surgeon or an aerospace engineer, but had wanted her to go to college, if not for a degree, just for the people she would meet there and the opportunities it would open up for her later in life. With her inheritance, Rose could do anything or nothing, but she knew she would go to college. She just didn't know where. Or what to do. Or even what she would do _after_.

"Well…I'm exhausted. Do you mind if I go to bed?"

"No, not at all," Regina smiled. "Sleep well."

"Goodnight," Rose smiled.

* * *

**A.N.**: Please review!


	8. Romeo Foiled

**A.N.**: Wow! Reviews! To _Blonde_, _Cass D_ and _Finngirl_, Thank you! I hope you keep enjoying this story, and love Finn just as much as me! I guess some of the themes in this story, as compared with my _Molly Meade_ story, are a little more mature, mostly because I've had a year at university living by myself in a boy-girl house where two of my housemates hooked up (*much drama and awkwardness and us hating them for taking up the whole biggest sofa!) so I have _that_ experience behind me now!

* * *

**Rose Amongst Thorns**

Chapter Eight

_Romeo Foiled_

* * *

Blissful sleep! Rose fell asleep almost instantly after climbing into bed. She had a small fan on gradual, and with the window open a crack, the hundreds of crickets who lived in the brook at the bottom of the McGowans' backyard serenaded her. The gentle evening breeze stirred the leaves of the trees of the wood beyond the brook, and Rose slept restfully for the first time in weeks.

She had a very strange dream, though; Doug was in it. Just Doug, sitting on a chair, with a glass coffee-table in front of him, and he kept dropping that big crystal earring of his onto the glass, and whispering her name, over and over again, his sense of urgency contrasting the relaxed way he sat, and how he kept dropping that earring over and over again, so it clicked against the glass of the coffee-table.

"_Rosie_!" Rose woke up, blinking blearily, disoriented in the darkness; the crickets had calmed somewhat, but she could still hear the gentle breeze through the trees—or was it just the fan? She heard the whisper again, her name, and something made fear prickle the fine hairs on her arms and the back of her neck…

Carefully, so she didn't make any noise or trip over one of her still-not-unpacked boxes, she crept over to the window and threw open the curtains. And suffered a minor heart-attack. A white face shone in the moonlight in the midst of the foliage of the tree, straddling a tree-branch and looking like he might very soon fall off. Rose stifled a yell and jumped back from the window, her heart going faster than it ever had during a cross-country meet, fear and shock jump-starting adrenaline through her veins, and she almost buckled onto one of her boxes when her knees touched against the cardboard.

"_Evan_!" she whispered, staring, clutching her hands to her chest, where her heart was pounding painfully against her ribcage. She went back to the window and opened it. "What are you _doing_?"

"Hey Rosie," Evan smiled, and the smile was tipsy.

"You're not going to start serenading me or anything, are you?" Rose asked warily. She glanced down at the ground, but there was no-one else waiting down on the lawn.

"_No_," Evan whispered a chuckle. "You didn't put the key back under the mat."

"Oh."

"Can you open the screen?"

"Why don't I just go and open the back-door?" Rose whispered.

"Nah, I couldn't get down from here again," Evan said, and the tree-branch wobbled as if in agreement. On closer inspection, Rose realised Evan was a little tipsier than she'd first thought.

"How'd you get home?"

"Hm? Oh, Vithya drove me," Evan smiled good-naturedly, swinging his legs.

"Where's your car?"

"In Logan."

"Why…? Okay, hold on…" Rose frowned at the contraption keeping the mosquito screen in place over the window, unlocked it, and slit it aside.

"Thanks," Evan whispered, and the tree-branch creaked softly as he shimmied toward her along it, grabbed hold of the window-ledge, and tried to climb through the window. Rose had to grab hold of one of his arms and the back of his belt to haul him through when he was in severe danger of overestimating his own abilities in balancing and flight, and they had almost got him successfully through the window when it happened; Evan's foot slipped, and instead of falling _out_ of the window, he fell _in_, with an enormous crash, right into Rose's boxes, with a floor-shuddering, echoing _BANG_ that resounded through the house, adding to the great cry of pain from Evan, having fallen onto a box full of hardback books. The box with her favourite plush toys she'd had since she was a baby was a foot to Evan's left, unharmed.

"What in the hell—?"

A light clicked on in the hallway, and a second later John, in a pair of long pyjama bottoms, came surging into the bedroom, wielding a baseball bat like it was a lethal weapon, eyes wide and alarmed.

"_Evan_?"

"Ouch. Dad?"

The baseball bat lowered. Rose stared from Evan, in a heap of broken cardboard and scattered books, to John, who got that look in his eyes that Rose's father did when she was a _long_ way down that creek without paddles.

"Is this a nightmare, or is it after one in the morning, and is my son climbing in through our sixteen-year-old ward's bedroom-window?" John asked, glaring at Evan. Evan winced.

"Crap," he mumbled.

"Just digging the hole deeper, Ev," John said warningly. "Get to your room, now. Your mother and I will discuss this with you tomorrow."

"Sorry," Evan whispered to her, and, shoulders sloped, head tucked down in shame, Evan tripped out of Rose's bedroom. Suddenly she felt exhausted, and the prickling fear and adrenaline rush that had come from being frightened out of her life was ebbing, replaced by the very great anxiety of what was going to happen next—to Evan, to her, for being an accomplice.

"Rose, I am so sorry about this," John said, frowning after his son. He stalked over to Rose's window and latched the screen back in place.

"It's alright," Rose mumbled, with a wide yawn.

"Well…goodnight," John grumbled, making sure the window was secured and locked, brushed a hand over her shoulder, and then closed the bedroom door behind him. Rose stood for a few seconds, blinking, trying to figure out what had just happened. She shook her head slightly, went to open the window a crack to let the breeze in, and went back to bed, thinking it was all just some weird dream.

* * *

Downstairs in the kitchen the next morning, fighting Caleb for the box of Lucky Charms, Rose realised it _hadn't_ been a dream. Firstly, the spare key was still on the counter by the door where she had left it after letting herself into the house last night. And secondly, Evan had been called into John's study with Regina as soon as he'd finished his breakfast. Rose finished her breakfast, took some snacks, filled her water-bottle, wiped Caleb's nose, and picked her Baker High parking-permit out of her wallet.

"Who's gonna take us to school?" Doug asked, chomping inelegantly on Cap'n Crunch. "Where's the Saab?"

"Evan left it in Logan," Rose remarked, without thinking; Doug shot her a nasty look, as if the question had been put forth for anyone but _her_ to hear.

"How'd you get home last night?" Finn asked. "You weren't climbing in through your bedroom-window last night."

"Jake Salvatore gave me a ride home on his motorcycle," Rose said.

"Jake Salvatore?" Doug sneered. "That dude will hit on anything that moves."

"Really?" Rose mumbled, her cheeks flushing, but not from embarrassment or humiliation; fire. She didn't like the way Doug mimicked her at the dinner-table, or how the only expressions he could put on when he saw her were deepest loathing and utter contempt. "Do you and he have unresolved issues we should know about?" Finn laughed; Doug glowered, and a faint flush appeared in his cheeks.

"How're we getting to school?" Doug repeated, looking pointedly away from Rose.

"I guess Mom could…"

"In the _minivan_?"

"I'll drive," Rose said quietly; Finn and Doug both glanced at her. Finn flashed her a smile; Doug, a contemptuous sneer.

"In that pile of shit out by the barn?"

"Douglas Arnold McGowan!" Regina strode into the kitchen, looking like she was on a vendetta.

"I know that face; that face is not our friend," Finn breathed, tucking a notebook into his backpack, glancing at Rose. Regina smacked Doug upside the back of the head.

"Rose, if you wouldn't mind, it would be really helpful if you'd drive yourself and the boys to school today," Regina said softly, her face softening as she glanced at Rose. "Since Evan didn't seem to think his car valuable enough to bring home last night."

"I can drive; it's no problem," Rose said quietly. "You don't mind some of the boys in the truck-bed, do you?"

"We have insurance," Regina shrugged, and winked at Rose when her sons let out splutters of disbelief.

"Oh, that's nice, Mom," Finn said, pretending to pout and cry.

Rose, Finn, Doug and Miller walked out to the truck; Miller instantly took a seat in the front, and Finn took the other; the front of the truck had three seatbelts, and was big enough for the three of them to sit comfortably; Finn turned the stereo on, and they waited while the air-conditioning warmed up for Evan. Doug was listening to enormous headphones in the bed of the truck, sprawled out lazily.

"You like Whitesnake?" Finn asked, as the CD came on; Finn goggled, astounded. Rose blushed.

"Yes. Why? Don't you like them? You can change the CD if you want," she flushed.

"No—no, I like 'em," Finn smiled. "I just wouldn't have thought _you_ would."

"What kind of music d'you think I'd like?" Rose asked, blushing.

"I don't know; the kind of mainstream stuff Evan listens to," Finn shrugged. "Hip-Hop and pop and R&B. That kinda stuff."

"Sometimes I do. I like all kinds of stuff," Rose said, playing with the steering-wheel. "It depends on my mood. I can listen to classical and opera one day and metal the next."

"You got an iPod?" Finn asked, and Rose dug it out of her bag and handed it to him, so he could look through her music. A few minutes later, Evan tripped down the porch steps following Caleb and Ian, who walked hand-in-hand to the bus-stop

"Oh dear," Finn tutted, looking out the back window at Evan as he glowered and climbed into the truck-bed, tossing down his backpack. Rose glanced at Finn and caught his eye.

"Were your parents really mad?"

"The worst of the shouting was over before you turned your hair-dryer off," Finn shrugged. "Come on, we'd better go. He needs Hailey ASAP."

"For some repentant wound-licking?" Rose tutted, surprising a laugh out of Finn.

"Urgh. If you must put _that_ image in my mind, yeah, probably," Finn grimaced. Rose put the truck in reverse, built up revs, and reversed away from the barn, put it into first, turned and drove down the road, smiling at Caleb and Ian as they glanced over their shoulders, looking where the roar of Rose's truck-engine had come from.

"Ooh, but that's a purty sound," Finn sighed. Miller remained silent, his eyes on his sneakers. "You work on your truck yourself?"

"Yeah. My daddy taught me about engines. He said if I couldn't tune a carburettor or change a tyre, I couldn't have a car," Rose said, and now she was exceptionally glad of her dad insisting she spend all that time draining oil and getting grease all over her hands and under her fingernails. She had had to change a tyre on the drive up from North Carolina, and had _really_ impressed Regina, who, since she had eight males under her thumb, didn't really need to worry about that kind of stuff.

"Well, I can't do _either_ of those, and I'm a guy, so I really shouldn't even have my licence," Finn chuckled. Following Finn's directions, Rose drove toward school; she tried not to dwell on Miller's awkward silence, sitting between her and Finn.

"You're a disgrace to your sex," Rose teased, and Finn laughed. Rose thought she might have caught a tiny flicker of a smile on Miller's lips from the corner of her eye, but she couldn't be sure.

"I can't help it. Sean's the engine-buff," Finn smiled.

"I noticed the Harley in the garage," Rose said quietly. "Is it Sean's?"

"Yeah, it is his life, it is his _passion_," Finn sighed.

"It is his _fault_ he did not lock the garage," Rose quoted, and Finn laughed.

"You've seen Ferris Bueller!"

"Who hasn't!"

For the rest of the ride to school, they talked about movies, and music, and Finn being an inadequate excuse for a man. Miller didn't speak, but Rose felt sure he was listening.

* * *

At lunchtime, Rose got a phone-call from Regina.

"_Hi Rosie. You're at lunch, right?_"

"Yes ma'am."

"_Oh, good. I don't want your cell being taken away_."

"No, I'm at lunch. What's up?"

"_I hate to ask this, but since Evan has to get his car after school and he's got lacrosse-practice, I'm in a bit of a bind; John can't get away from work, and I have to go to a meeting with Miller's teachers, but Caleb has a soccer game this afternoon_."

"You'd like for me to go and collect him?" Rose smiled.

"_If you could, that would be so great_," Regina gushed, sounding relieved. "_I know you haven't been around town at all yet, so I didn't want to have to ask_—"

"Where's he playing?" Rose asked, smiling to herself. She got her assignment log out of her bag and flipped to the day's section, and Regina gave her directions to the city sports-park from school.

"_I'll call Caleb's coach and let him know to expect you instead of me_," Regina said. "_They finish just after you finish with practice, but don't rush_."

"I won't. I'll see you this afternoon," Rose said, smiling to herself.

"_Oh, you are just too sweet; thank you, Rosalie,_" Regina said. Rose hung up, opened her Activia fruit-compote yoghurt, and finished _The Blue Lagoon_ before the bell rang for class.

* * *

Hailey was in a bad mood during practice; she kept jostling Rose, and once shoved her hard between the shoulder-blades, so that while Rose's head snapped back, her body fell forward, and she bit dirt, _hard_. But Rose just got up and caught up with Hailey, and outstripped her to prove a point. She could bully Rose all she wanted, but Rose wasn't going to give her the satisfaction of seeing how much it affected her.

Rose showered and forewent drying her hair and doing her makeup to walk to the junior parking-lot with Pearl, whose little Ford Ka waited for her, glistening bright-red and brand-new, and who had given Rose yet _another_ bracelet, this one in subtle, pretty silvers and greys and pale-blues, which Pearl had said were the same colour as Rose's eyes. She said goodbye to Pearl, climbed into her truck, took out the directions to the sports park, and drove over there.

All she had to do was find the team with the littlest players, in black and gold uniforms. They were playing a team in green and yellow. Caleb had the ball when Rose got there; she parked and walked across the short stretch of grass to the edge of the marked pitch, and smiled at the soccer moms cheering their kids on.

"So, you must be _Lily Meade_'s kid," one of them said, and Rose glanced up; she was blonde, her hair freshly blown out, and her makeup was impeccable.

"Er, yes ma'am," Rose said shyly. Who was this woman.

"You've got all her looks," the woman smiled; she offered her hand. "I'm Sherry. I went to school with your mommy."

"Oh. Hi," Rose smiled, shaking her hand.

"So, you here for Caleb?" Sherry asked, and Rose nodded, glancing at the pitch, where Caleb was tearing down the field with the soccer-ball, outstripping everyone else on the team. Since they were only six years old, maybe seven, that didn't really say much, but she could tell he'd be another athlete like Evan.

"Yes ma'am. Regina asked me to pick him up. She has a meeting with Miller's teachers," Rose said.

"I don't know how she does it, with all those boys," Sherry sighed, shaking her head. "She's run ragged most days. I'll bet she loves having you around, though."

"She did enjoy going in the girly stores at the mall," Rose said, cheeks flushing pleasantly when she smiled. Sherry laughed.

"I can imagine. Hey, will you ask Regina about the safari-dinner? She'll know what I mean," Sherry smiled. "_Go on, Caleb_!"

Caleb had neared the goal; he stuck his tongue out in concentration and gave the ball great _thumping_ kick, and it soared over the goalie's head into the goal. Rose smiled and cheered and clapped with the moms, and a few minutes later, the whistle blew, and the red-and-white team congregated around their youthful-looking coach, whom Rose knew from Sherry was in the Army, and off to Afghanistan for a third tour soon. His son played left-forward. Caleb was _centre_ forward. Rose would have to remember all the positions. Caleb's team—the Tigers—had won the match; Caleb had scored two of the three goals, and the coach handed each of the players a ticket for a snack and drink at the snack-shack over by the baseball diamonds.

"Hi, Caleb," Rose smiled, when he came bounding over. "You got two goals!"

"And Billy only got one!" Caleb grinned. Rose smiled and offered her hand for a high-five.

"Up top—now below," she smiled, and he slapped her palm twice, grinning from ear to ear.

"Can we go to the snack-shack now?" Caleb asked eagerly. Rose shrugged.

"Does your mom let you?"

"Yup."

"Okay, well…I guess," Rose said, shrugging, and Caleb latched onto her hand to drag her towards the baseball diamonds at the other end of the park, where the snack-shack was open and in full swing, selling burgers and slushies and candy and nachos and Gatorades. Caleb handed Rose his ticket, and she handed it to the teenager behind the counter.

"What do you want, Caleb?" she asked.

"Blue Gatorade!" Caleb said decisively, already licking his lips in expectation; Rose asked for a blue Gatorade, and hoisted Caleb onto her hip so he could see the candy selection. He chose a foot-long Red Rope liquorice candy. Rose paid for a glass of cloudy Minute Maid lemonade from the soda fountain and an apple, and Caleb clung on to the folds of her floor-length cream floral flounced strapless maxi-dress as they walked back to the truck.

"Don't eat it all at once; you'll be sick," Rose said, holding onto the Gatorade as Caleb tore open the candy and started chomping great bites of it off.

"No I won't!"

"Yes, you—never mind," Rose smiled, and unlocked the truck so Caleb could clamber inside, with great exclamations of awe and delight over the truck. He drained half the Gatorade when Rose made him sit and take a drink, wiped his mouth on his overlong sleeve, and put his seatbelt on when Rose threatened they wouldn't leave if he didn't. He was a sweet kid; she asked him about his game, and he gossiped on and on about the players, and this guy's mom and what he'd had for dinner at their house, and how many cookies _that_ mom let him have, and how cool _that_ guy's big brother was, because "he's not like Evan; he doesn't shove me off the Xbox if he wants to play a different game."

"Well, you shouldn't let him push you off it," Rose said. "You're a Tiger. Can you roar?" Caleb demonstrated, and Rose laughed; they took the long way—the way Rose knew—back to the McGowan house, Caleb pointing out that going up Bernal would have been quicker; Rose only knew the way that involved going past Baker High, which was now deserted.

Rose parked up by the barn and she and Caleb made their way over to the house; they hadn't gotten to the stairs before Regina called them into the living-room. Caleb glanced up at Rose, pulled an anxious face, and slunk into the living-room.

"Hey guys," Regina said, as Rose entered the huge, airy room. "We're having a family meeting." All of the boys—even Sean—were sitting on the couches like they were waiting at a doctor's office; stiff, wary of their diagnosis. There was a space between Finn and Doug, where Rose knew she fit in height-wise; like the toiletries and food, Miller was in charge of seating arrangements. Regina and John stood in front of the fireplace, arms crossed over their chests. Evan caught her eye, and with his eyes gave her a sort of apology.

"Caleb, go sit with Ian. Rose, would you sit next to Finn, please," Regina said, and Rose heard in her voice the tone of an Army General. Caleb unlatched from the skirt of her dress, put his Gatorade and half-eaten Red Rope on the coffee-table, and hopped onto the ottoman next to Ian, whose eyes had gone straight to the candy. Rose picked her way through the long, sprawled legs of the boys and settled uncomfortably between Finn and Doug. Doug sighed irritably and made an elaborate show of shifting, turning his knees away from her so that no part of his body touched hers, not even her dress. His move only pressed her further into Finn's side.

"Sorry," Rose murmured, blushing.

Finn cleared his throat. "No problem," he said quietly, lifting his arm and draping it on the back of their couch to give them both more room.

"Okay, I'm sure you all know why we're here," John began. Rose figured it was either something about Evan getting home past midnight through her bedroom window, or her and Evan not getting home at _all_. "Your mother and I know that you guys are all doing your best to make Rosalie feel welcome." Rose blinked. They were? She'd hate to see what them _not_ making an effort felt like! Doug let out a grunt that only Rose heard. Finn shifted slightly, pressing himself into the arm of the couch.

"We were hoping we weren't going to have to have this conversation," John said heavily; "We were hoping we could trust you guys to set a good example. But Evan's behaviour last night has forced our hand."

"Nice one, loser," Doug said. He pulled out a biro, uncapped it with his teeth, and started doodling on his jeans.

"We expect better—from all of you. Doug, stop drawing on those denims," Regina said coolly. "While it was very good of you to stop Evan from _breaking his neck_ last night, Rose, we don't want you put in the position where you might get in trouble because of our boys."

"I wasn't—I mean, it isn't—" Rose didn't really know what to say. Regina smiled kindly at her, but when she turned her eyes onto her sons, they flashed.

"Don't think that just because Rosalie has moved into this house we'll go softer on you guys," John said, frowning around the room. "We expect you guys to treat Rose with the respect you would your mom, got it? And when she's with you, you're to watch out for her as if she were your sister."

_Sister. Wonderful_, Rose blushed.

"Hm. Incest," Doug remarked, scanning his eyes over Rose as if he was memorising every single curve and flaw of her body. Finn smacked him round the head, as Rose stifled a shudder, and Regina and John both shouted at Doug, Evan laughed, Sean smirked, and Miller looked steadfastly at a knot in the wood floor at his feet.

"Do you understand?" John glowered. Doug raised his hands palms out.

"Yeah, hands off Megan, we got it," Doug said. "Can we go now?"

"Wait! Does that include Caleb?" Ian asked, cracking up at his own joke.

"Okay, wise guy, you just got yourself trash duty for a week," Regina said, narrowing her eyes. Doug started to rise from the couch.

"We're not done yet," John said, and Doug dropped back onto the sofa with a huge aggravated sigh.

"I know you're all used to having the run of the house around here, but that changes as of right now," John said, raising his voice slightly. "Rosalie's parents trusted us to care for her, and that was a _big_ thing they're trusting us with." Rose flushed bright red; she could feel the heat emanating from her cheeks. "As of right now, you will all start respecting her privacy, and her property. That means no going into her room without permission, no touching her things, and from now on, the oak tree out back is off-limits."

"No fair!" Caleb cried.

"That's the climbing-tree!" Ian added. Rose flushed hotter.

"You guys can still climb it," Regina amended, seeing their wide-eyed, hurt expressions. "Daddy just means it's off-limits after dark." She shot Evan a dangerous look.

"And we're going to have a curfew," John said. Last but definitely not least; Rose shrank into the couch, knowing what would follow that announcement; absolute bedlam; Doug, Evan, even mild-mannered Finn were shouting out their opinions.

"Sean never had a curfew!" Doug shouted. "That's crap!"

"Rosalie's parents didn't give her a curfew," Evan said desperately.

"Until you guys can knuckle down and prove we can let you out of the house, curfew on school-nights is midnight," John said, raising his voice over the protests. "One a.m. for weekends. _If_ you can prove you're trustworthy enough, your mom and I might consider allowing you a later curfew in future."

"How come _Sean_ never had a curfew?" Doug spat spitefully. "He did tons of stuff you guys don't even know about when he was in high school."

"That's what you think," Regina arched one eyebrow. "Sean's already paid his dues." Sean made a short little nod that might have been agreement. "And things were different when Sean was in high-school."

"Yeah, Chibs the sh—"

"Be very careful, Douglas," John growled softly, the look in his eyes like a Doberman ready to pounce.

"And don't think your father and I won't be enforcing your curfew," Regina said, gazing around. Rose shrank further into the sofa. "You think you've been grounded before! Just test me! You guys'd better get used to changes around here."

"Dad!" Evan said, his expression making it evident he was set on making one last plea of desperation.

"You're the last person who should try to argue with me on this one, Ev," John said firmly. "It's because of your behaviour last night your mother and I are having to enforce such measures."

"Thanks a lot," Doug said under his breath. Rose flamed up and shrank as far into the sofa as possible. Finn hit him around the back of the head again. Rose had thought Doug hated her; she didn't want to think how she would be treated now that she had indirectly caused John and Regina to think a curfew necessary.

"Alright, everyone, let's eat," Regina said.

Though they hadn't spoken a word to each other, Rose was sure they'd had some telepathic conference in the time it took to get from the living-room to the kitchen, because when the pizzas were taken out of the oven, the only pieces left for her when the herd had dissolved were burned, devoid of toppings, or full of air bubbles. She sat down between Finn and Miller—who had decided to switch from his seat next to Doug, for some reason—and poured some Hidden Valley Ranch onto her plate, and set the bottle back in its proper place.

Finn caught her eye, frowned at her plate, and switched up one of her slices of burnt veggie pizza with one of his juicy margarita slices. "Thanks," Rose mumbled.

"Hey, Finn, hands off!" Ian cackled loudly; Rose flushed hotly and tucked her chin down; she licked her lips and reached for her soda, took a sip, and avoided everyone's eyes as she ate. The meal was almost silent; only John and Regina chatted easily, and Caleb and Ian argued over who had the most pepperoni slices on their pizza. Rose felt gamma-rays of hate emanating from more than one of the guys, and retreated to her bedroom to do her homework.

* * *

**A.N.**: Please review.


	9. Ice, Ice Baby

**A.N.**: Don't worry, Tori, Finn's time will come, make no mistake about that! His time will come! But you know when you move to a new place or new school, you might hang out with a few people the first few weeks, then drift off to another group when you make other friends…that's kind of where Rose is at.

Okay, this chapter update is for _Candy Couture_, _ST_, _Endless Chills_, and _B.w_. Thank you for your ecstatic reviews!

* * *

**Rose Amongst Thorns**

Chapter Nine

_Ice, Ice Baby_

* * *

After finishing her math homework and the assigned reading for English and History, Rose washed her hair and scrubbed her face vigorously with her favourite _fresh_ 'Sugar Face Polish'. It smelled of strawberries, and tasted like brown sugar, and made her skin so soft and clean.

_It's going to be fine_, she thought, exhaling quietly, glancing at her reflection in the mirror after rinsing her face. Water clung to her skin and eyelashes. Just because every time Doug looked at her she thought he was planning how best to murder her, didn't mean she'd wake up one night with him hovering over her with a pillow. She reached for a towel and heard voices through the wall. They were coming from Evan's room.

"This sucks," someone whispered. "Since when are they so big on us following the rules?"

"One guess," another voice replied. She tiptoed over to the door, opened it a crack, and listened.

"Look, I've never seen Mom and Dad that serious," someone else said. The voice wasn't familiar—Sean? "You monkeys better get ready for a big-time crack-down."

"We had this place wired tight, yo," Doug said. "Now the girl has scorched that. I say we ice her until she cracks. We make it so bad she'll be beggin' to leave."

"She doesn't have anywhere to _go_," someone said—Finn, Rose thought.

"So. She can find someplace. She can go live with that dude from _North Carolina_," Doug said, mimicking Rosalie's accent. Rose's eyes burned, and she kneaded the heel of her palm over her heart, her chest suddenly aching as much as her throat and eyes.

Did Doug think it her choice to move seven-hundred miles, away from the only place she knew? Away from the guy who had been her best-friend since she was _nine_ years old, and the best friend she could ever have?

Wasn't anyone going to stick up for her? Didn't _anyone_ realise it wasn't her fault?

"Did you know that the Yankees have appeared in thirty-nine World Series and have won twenty-six of them?" Rose smiled sadly, her eyes burning with tears that didn't fall.

"Yeah, we know that, dill hole," Doug snapped. His callousness to his brother made a shiver of dislike go up and down Rose's spine, and she glared at the door. "But who won in 2004?"

"The Red Sox. But—"

"And who did they kick the big, fat butts of to get there?" Doug asked.

"The Yankees, but—"

"Then why don't you just shut up?"

Rose retreated back into the bathroom, set her tub of face scrub in its height-corresponding place in the medicine cabinet on her shelf, changed into her pyjamas, folded her towel over the rail, and slipped out of the bathroom. She closed and locked the door behind her, took up her cell-phone, and curled up on the chaise with a pillow, waiting for Pogue to pick up.

He did, and Rose spent an hour on her cell talking to him, alternately crying and whimpering down the phone, listening to him abusing his McGowan cousins colourfully in a way only Pogue could and his advice on how to deal with the boys.

* * *

At 03:30 the next morning, Friday, Rose woke up, and couldn't get back to sleep. She never slept well when she was upset, which owed to her exhaustion the last few weeks. She tiptoed to the bathroom, and washing her hands, she shuddered at the state of the room.

She couldn't sleep, and so opened up the cupboard below the sink to check for cleaning supplies, found them wanting and tiptoed downstairs to check the cleaning supplies in the laundry room. She found what she needed, plus the Swiffer, dustpan and brush and a trash bag, carried it all upstairs quietly, got her iPod and went to work.

Listening to Aerosmith, Deep Purple, Whitesnake, Kiss, AC/DC, Mötley Crüe, Def Leppard and Van Halen, her knees screaming in protest, her back hurting, her arms tired, Rose cleaned her way through the whole bathroom. Cleaned the toilet, the sink, the drawers of the console, the medicine cabinet, threw out all the old, empty bottles, cleaned the mirror and window, scrubbed the countertop, windowsill, and around the edges of the bath, swept the floors, Swiffered them, scrubbed the shower door till it shone and was kneeling in the bathtub, scrubbing it down completely, to get rid of watermarks and caked on shower gel and shampoo residue and bubble-bath, when something touched her back. Yelling, forgetting that it wasn't more than five a.m., Rose jumped and twisted painfully, landing on her side awkwardly, staring up at Finn, her heart in her mouth, her adrenaline spiking.

He plucked her earphones out and sat down on the toilet, his eyes barely open, his hair tousled, and looking utterly adorable.

"What're you doing?" he grumbled.

Rose blinked. "I'm cleaning."

"I see that. It's five a.m. What're you doing cleaning _our_ bathroom at five a.m.?" Finn asked, leaning his chin on his hand, his eyes closed.

"I can't sleep," Rose murmured. "I didn't wake you, did I?"

"No. I was gonna use the bathroom. But this is the cleanest this room has ever been, so I'll go downstairs," Finn said quietly, peeking his eyes open and giving her a sleepy smile. He stood up, left the bathroom, and Rose didn't see him again until breakfast. She finished rearranging the bottles and toiletries back into height-order, grabbed the bag full of dirt and trash and empty bottles and the cleaning products, turned the light off, and slipped downstairs. She tiptoed back up, needing to clear her head of the fumes from the bathroom surface cleaners she had used, grabbed a sports bra and a little pair of _Cougar_ shorts, part of her cross-country uniform at her school in North Carolina, slipped her running sneakers on, pulled her hair into a ponytail, made sure the key was under the mat at the kitchen door, hooked her chip onto her shorts, plugged her earphones in, and went for a run.

An hour and ten and a half miles later, Rose ran back around the house and into the kitchen through the back door.

Regina stared at her, pouring herself a mug of coffee, still dressed in her pyjamas and robe, her hair pulled into a messy ponytail.

"Rosie!"

Rose was panting too much to talk, only nodded and waved, and, her breath blistering in her throat, she made her way upstairs. Finn's door was open, and Red Jumpsuit Apparatus was playing; Rose spied him changing into a paint-splattered t-shirt; he glanced up, caught her eye, flicked his eyes over her appearance, and quirked an eyebrow; Rose went to her room, stripped quickly, wrapped her towel around her and hopped into the shower. When she opened the door, wrapped in a towel, her hair up in a high, messy ponytail to keep it dry, Regina was in the hallway, blinking; Finn, dressed in his t-shirt and relaxed, perfectly broken-in jeans, shot Rose a smile and Regina shuffled over to the bathroom; Rose heard her exclamation of shock as she closed the bedroom door behind her.

She wasn't in the mood to dress pretty. The conversation she had overheard last night, which had made her cry on her phone to Pogue for an hour, had sapped all the good-will out of her. For the day. Rose didn't have the personality to bear a grudge. She went to her closet and picked out her favourite vintage Kiss t-shirt (it had belonged to her mom) which was black, fit so snug and tight, and embellished with _KISS_ in diamantes. She pulled on a pair of lace-waist string bikini bottoms and her favourite black lace 'Love' _Agent_ _Provocateur_ bra, found the second-skin dark-wash denim jeans that moulded to her bottom, slipped on her t-shirt, and blow-dried her hair, so that it fell in softly tousled locks to her shoulders; she pulled it up in a loose bun so wisps framed her face, and forewent eyeshadow for a tiny line of black liquid eyeliner, a lashing of mascara, and rose-red lipstick that really complimented her fair skin.

Instead of her usual daytime perfume, _Diptyque'_s 'Ofresia,' Rose brought out the bottle of expensive 'Bois de Violette' _Serge_ _Lutens _perfume that she used on dates and for dances, spritzed some on her wrists and throat, and put the little purse atomiser in her bag. She tugged on her studded brown leather sandals, secured a pair of gold pyramid-stud earrings in, put on her mom's Hermés watch, her _Dogeared_ 'Karma' bracelets, one of Pearl's beaded creations, and gathered everything for school, grabbed her running sneakers, her iPod (which she had charged during her shower), her black Speedo swimsuit and a beach-towel for swimming during gym, and slipped downstairs. The house was still quiet; Regina was no longer in the hallway; Finn's door was closed and his music louder; she grabbed her usual snacks from the kitchen, and a yoghurt from the fridge, refilled her water-bottle and slipped out of the house, into her truck, and was halfway to school before anyone in the McGowan house even realised she was gone.

She sat in her truck, the windows down and the breeze cool, sipping her water and eating her yoghurt, getting ahead on the reading for History, until people started filtering toward the school, a steady stream of cars trickling into the parking lots like ants to their underground networks. Rose climbed out of the truck, locked it, and was walking up the front steps when she glimpsed, from the corner of her eye, Hailey and her friends watching her.

"So…_Chibs_," Hailey said with a cruel smile, "I see you're no longer using my boyfriend as your chauffeur."

Rose, though not a girl inclined to be rude or bear a grudge, was still so upset by the conversation she had overheard last night that she paused, swung around, and stared at Hailey, straight in the eye, until Hailey's face fell. She jerked on the front door and entered the school. She stopped by the cafeteria to buy a bagel and cream-cheese and went to wait outside her History classroom.

* * *

Gym-class convened outside the swimming-pool locker-rooms. Miss Smith assigned them temporary lockers for the unit and they all changed; Rose bought a swim-cap for a dollar in the office, covered her hair, and remembered to bring her mini hair-dryer to school tomorrow. She spent the hour swimming laps, avoiding Finn's gaze, and thinking. It was going to be a _long_ two years. Maybe more…

Miller was already sitting at his preferred table in the courtyard when Rose walked out there later that afternoon, carrying her tray and pushing her sunglasses on. She glanced at her favourite table, and then at Miller. From Regina, she had learned that if she wanted to help Miller feel comfortable about her being around her, she would have to make the effort to get to know him and show him she was here to stay. Whether she was or wasn't was irrelevant, and while she could have sooner stabbed Doug than avoided him, she saw no point in being needlessly cruel to Miller when he was so often alone already.

Now didn't seem like a terrible time to start building a relationship with him.

Nervous about invading his bubble, Rose walked over to his table and sat down at the far end of the opposite bench, as far as she could possibly get without sitting at another table. He already had his headphones in place and his radio on; the tinny sound of the announcer was a little annoying but Rose was going to listen to her music anyway, not anticipating a flood of conversation from Miller.

Miller looked up and stared at her, his eyes blank.

Blushing under his unabashed gaze—and those clear, sharp pale-blue eyes—Rose looked down at her tray and started organising it. Water bottle, juice-box, yoghurt, apple, chocolate brownie; she kept the bowl of baked macaroni-cheese in front of her, and when she had finished, she glanced up at Miller for approval.

He smiled.

She blinked. His smile was _beautiful_. He had obviously had braces, and his teeth were lovely and white, but when he smiled, it was from his eyes; they kind of glittered the way Regina's did when she was happy, lifting up at the corners slightly. It lit up his whole face, and he looked so much more like his handsome dad when he smiled. Rose smiled back, cheeks flushing, pleased, and he returned to his game and his lunch, and Rose pulled out her new book; _Gone With the Wind_. She put Jeff Buckley on and was still reading when the bell rang; only Miller packing away his radio alerted her to the start of afternoon lessons. She went off to AP English thinking of how _true_ gentleman should act.

* * *

After cross-country practice, Miss Smith called them into a huddle.

"Before you hit the showers, I want to remind you all about our long run tomorrow, so meet up out front at eight a.m. We're also gonna be electing our new team-captain soon," Miss Smith said, "so start thinking about what kind of person you want to have leading this team." Almost everyone looked at Hailey. Clearly _she_ had a lock on the captainship. Rose thought of her cross-country team in North Carolina. While she wouldn't have made captain, she would have enjoyed practices a lot more, teasing and laughing with her friends. She loved running, of course; nothing could stop her loving it, not even Hailey and her not-so-subtle attempts to incapacitate her. She just wished it was more _fun_. Jake caught her eye and winked. She smiled sadly back, and attempted a smile when Aimee and Pearl caught up with her, Pearl showing Aimee her new styles of bracelets, Aimee muttering about how much she hated her big-sister.

Rose showered quickly, shoved her clothes on, said goodbye to Pearl and Aimee, and headed off for her truck. She would vote for Hailey, she guessed, if no one else was elected. She reached her truck, wrinkled her nose at the state of it, and when she got back to the McGowans', she commandeered a bucket, car-wash, a sponge and the hose, quickly changed into the sports bra and shorts she had worn for her run this morning, and spent a good deal of time washing her truck till it gleamed—as best a twenty-six-year-old truck _could_ gleam. Since Evan's old Saab was parked beside her truck, she washed that too. She showered again, briefly, finished her math homework, her English reading, made notes from her History textbook about Henry VIII's six wives and his children, wrote an entry in her journal, which made her upset again, and when she had nothing left to do, wrote an email to Pogue, looked on Facebook at the hundreds of photos she had been tagged in from Darnell's birthday party, added the Friend Requests and saved some of the photographs to send to PhotoBox for printing.

She remembered the enormous pile of laundry that needed ironing downstairs, tucked her iPod into the pocket of her shorts, opened the ironing board in the living-room, filled the water canister of the steam-iron, and set about depleting as best she could the four-foot-high pile of shirts, t-shirts, shorts, pants, Regina's tops, skirts, pyjamas, sheets, pillowcases, sports uniforms, dishtowels, cooking aprons and tablecloths. Regina's clothing was easy to sort into a pile that she took upstairs and laid on the chaise at the end of her and John's bed, as were John's shirts; he was a little wider in the shoulders than his sons. She hung his shirts on hangers and put them in his closet. Finn's t-shirts were characterised by their being splattered with paint; she had never seen Evan out of Hollister or Abercrombie; Doug wore 'gangster' clothing brands, and anything featuring A Rod or the New York Yankees went into Miller's pile. She organised his pile in size order and took it upstairs for him; he was listening to the radio and doing math homework when she knocked on his bedroom door and entered. Everything in the bedroom—he shared with Doug—was neatly organised in height order, and there were neatly-tacked posters of the Yankees and Miller's favourite players on the walls, and photographs of him with his mom and dad.

He blinked at her when she put the pile of ironed and neatly-folded clothes onto what was unmistakably his neatly-made bed; she offered him a little smile and retreated, after dumping Doug's clothes on the end of his messy bed. She glanced at Miller, and didn't wonder that he couldn't bring himself to tackle the mess of his brother's half of the room.

She went back downstairs and found Caleb digging around in a brand-new cereal box for the toy it promised on the front; Rose cleaned up after him, found the toy, handed it over, and went back to work. By the time John got home from work, she was down to the last three inches in the clothes basket, ironing one of his shirts. He set his briefcase at the foot of the stairs, loosened his tie, hung his smart jacket on the banister and froze, blinking, as he stared across the back-end of the grand-piano at her.

When Regina arrived home, having picked Ian up from ice-hockey practice, and having bought boxes full of Mexican takeout from the restaurant down by Jim's Diner, Rose had finished with the ironing and was reading _Gone With the Wind_ in her bedroom. She still hadn't unpacked her cardboard boxes. Mostly because she had no bookcase. She made a mental note to ask Regina—or Sean, whom she saw with a book in-hand every time she saw him.

She was quiet during dinner, speaking only when directly asked a question. Miller sat next to her again instead of the other side of Doug. She had helped Miller load the dishwasher the way he liked it, and took out the trash before remembering it was Ian's chore, and then went for a short, five-mile run. After a brief cold shower, just to rinse the sweat from her skin, she turned on Iggy Pop and picked up her book.

Near Caleb and Ian's bedtime, Regina knocked on the door and entered, smiling.

"John says _you're_ the magic fairy who did the ironing," she smiled, coming to sit on the side of Rose's bed. Rose plucked her earphones out and nodded slightly, her cheeks warming at the look on Regina's face.

"Rose, you don't have to do that, you know," she said softly, smiling with her eyes. "I don't expect you to clean up after my boys. Finn said you were up at five cleaning the bathroom this morning."

"Three-thirty," Rose mumbled, and Regina laughed softly.

"And you washed your truck and Evan's Saab," Regina said, bewildered wonderment in her voice. Rose nodded.

"Sweetie, it's not your responsibility to clean this house," she smiled sadly, eyes roving over Rose's face. "You don't know _what_ you're doing here, do you?" Rose looked down at her hands, fiddling with her fingernails. She had taken off the old nail-polish, trimmed and filed them earlier. She was running out of things to do to avoid going downstairs to hang out with the boys. She knew she wasn't welcome, and that made it all the more difficult for her to face the idea of doing so. She tucked her feet under her butt when Regina stood and came to lower herself into the other half of the chaise. Regina looked over her face and reached out to tuck a lock of Rose's hair behind her ear, smoothing her thumb over her cheekbone.

"You can come to me, sweetie," she said quietly, her voice sounding choked up, "about _anything_. You do know that, right?" Rose nodded, licking her lips nervously. "It's my boys, isn't it." It wasn't a question; Rose shifted one shoulder up and down. Regina sighed heavily and shook her head, her expression darkening. "What've they done? John and I will talk to them."

"Please, don't," Rose said agitatedly, her cheeks flaming. She didn't want the boys thinking she was a tattler. And she didn't want John and Regina thinking the boys were making her unhappy. Regina was already so worried about her, and rightly so, but Rose didn't want her to think it was her boys' fault that she felt worse and worse each day knowing she couldn't call her mom or get a hug from her daddy.

Regina watched her for a moment, then sighed. "Okay. Whatever it is that's their deal, I'll let you guys work it out between you," she said quietly. "But, Rosalie, if they're making you unhappy—"

"My parents are dead," Rosalie said softly. She had only said it a few times; it still tasted strange on her lips. "I'd be unhappy anyway." Regina's face softened, and her eyes grew moist. She stroked Rose's hair and leaned in to kiss her forehead. A great swell of heat rushed into her eyes and throat and Rose stifled a sob; Regina heard it, anyway, with the motherly intuition she had honed looking after seven kids, and Rose was enveloped in a crushing, motherly hug.

"It's been a stressful week, huh," Regina said, rubbing her back comfortingly.

"_Yeah_," Rose whimpered, crying into Regina's shoulder. "It was a b-bad d-day today." She choked and cried a little more, and just being held made her at once more upset and soothed. When she had calmed down, Regina tucked her hair out of her face and dashed the tears from her cheeks.

"If you keep cleaning my house when you're upset, maybe I should just let my boys do their thing, huh," she teased softly, and Rose laughed a little bit; she managed a weak smile. "You want some hot cocoa?" Regina asked.

"That'd be nice," Rose sniffled; Regina smiled and went downstairs, and Rose reached for the box of Kleenex on the bedside cabinet and wiped her face. She would go to bed early today and stay in bed tomorrow morning. At least until six a.m.

When Regina returned, Rose was already in her pyjamas; the hot cocoa Regina had mentioned was mounded with whipped cream from a canister and mini-marshmallows and chocolate sprinkles. Rose blinked tears away and smiled tremulously as Regina came and sat down on the other side of the bed, with her own mounded mug. "These are from my _secret_ stash," Regina said, her eyes glittering the way Miller's did when he smiled. The same way Lori Alexander's eyes twinkled. Rose accepted her mug with wide eyes, a small thank you, and glanced at Regina.

"I didn't know Lori was your sister," she said quietly; Regina had handed her a spoon to eat the whipped cream and marshmallows, and they both sat on top of the bed, legs outstretched, ankles crossed, enjoying a secret treat.

"We didn't speak for a very long time," Regina sighed heavily. She glanced at Rose. "We had an argument about our mom's jewels when our parents died. Sounds stupid, doesn't it? Pogue was a stranger to me when I arrived in North Carolina last week." Rose nodded and sipped her hot cocoa. It was rich and creamy, and strong; she had seen the Green and Black's jar of hot-cocoa powder in the kitchen, and it smelled divine.

"Pogue says he doesn't even know all his cousins' names," Rose said quietly. "I had to show him pictures from when we were little."

"Mm," Regina was drinking her hot cocoa and snapped her fingers, licked her lips and smiled. "I was looking through old photo albums a few nights ago, and I found the most adorable photographs of you and the boys from when you were babies. You can have copies, if you want."

"I'd like to see them," Rose smiled. See if the mini McGowans concealed their devilish personalities as well as the adolescent ones did.

"So…how d'you like your room?" Regina asked, settling back against the neatly arranged pillows, looking around the room. Truth be told, Rose hadn't really changed much about it, save inside the closet and drawers; her makeup was scattered on the dresser with some photographs, and she had made the desk her own, but the majority of her stuff was still in boxes. "You still haven't unpacked."

"I was going to ask you about that," Rose said quietly. "Um…Regina, do you know if I could get a bookcase in here?" Regina sipped her hot cocoa.

"Yeah, sure. We'll see if we can find you one—actually, you know, there's a charity furniture sale at the Farmer's Market tomorrow," Regina said, her eyes lighting up. "If you wanted, we can head downtown to the market and see what they've got."

"Tomorrow?" Rose bit her lip. "Is it in the morning?"

"Eleven till three, I think," Regina frowned thoughtfully. "Unless the stalls sell out of their stock. Why?"

"I have a cross-country run tomorrow, but it's early in the morning," Rose said, smiling slightly. The meet was early in the morning so they didn't have to run in midday heat.

"Okay, well, good; as soon as you're finished with that, we can head over to the Farmer's Market," Regina smiled. "I'm sure the boys all need something or other for their rooms too. Sean always needs more storage. You might want to ask him to borrow his books, if you ever get tired of rereading these. He must have his own mini library up there." She jabbed her thumb at the ceiling, above which Rose knew was Sean's bedroom, because she heard his mattress springs creak whenever he flopped down on his bed of an evening, right above her.

After her little cry, Rose felt a little better; she had just needed someone to give her a hug, really, to acknowledge they knew she was upset and to comfort her. She and Regina talked quietly for a little while, until the volume of Doug's music drove Regina to bang on his door and then have an argument _over_ the music with her son about waking the little ones. Regina took Rose's empty mug, kissed her goodnight, thanked her for cleaning the bathroom and for doing the ironing, and left Rose alone.

Rose fell asleep within moments of her head hitting the pillow. She could get used to the sound of the crickets and the bubble of the brook down at the end of the garden.

* * *

**A.N.**: We've all had days where we just needed a hug!


	10. Running Up That Hill

**A.N.**: For _nygirl4eva_, because your review was so ecstatic! I promised I'd update, didn't I! I hope you like it!

* * *

**Rose Amongst Thorns**

Chapter Ten

_Running Up That Hill_

* * *

At exactly eight a.m., Rose was standing outside Baker High with Miss Smith, Pearl, Jake and a couple of the others on the cross-country team. They were waiting for Hailey and Aimee and a couple others. Rose wore a lightweight zipper jacket on top of her running shorts and sports bra, had switched up her mom's _Hermés_ watch for a sports watch to time herself, and was listening to Miss Smith's plan for their run. They were going to cut through the woods behind the school, crossing the brook, and run through the fields and woods beyond. Rose couldn't wait. She and Pearl started stretching and warming up, chatting idly about nothing much at all, checking the street for any sign of Aimee's car.

Rose took the opportunity to talk to Miss Smith about meets and a training schedule she would suggest for Rose outside of practices. Miss Smith just suggested adding five more miles to the long two-hour runs she did three times a week, and keep running in the mornings if she could, every day, not for distance but time. As soon as Hailey and Aimee showed up, Miss Smith joined their warm-up run around the field, and then they started for real. They were to run for ninety minutes. They all started off on the same line; the faster runners quickly tore ahead, setting the pace when they fell into 'race pace' and Rose, Jake and Hailey were the three lead runners. Whilst she and Jake kept switching for first, Hailey kept behind Rose, cowing her, but Rose could hear her breath blistering in her throat even as she tried to trip up Rose's heels.

Hailey's dogged pursuit of her only served to heighten the challenge. Rose found herself being pushed, and she rose to the challenge, as she had done all week; if Hailey wasn't careful, she'd only improve Rose's running, not incapacitate her with injuries that could get Hailey disqualified in actual meets.

Ninety minutes of running; in Rose's mind, complete bliss. It was made even more beautiful by running through lush woods and gurgling streams and the odd field filled with late-summer wildflowers. The cool morning gave way to a warm, moist heat and burning sunshine; she snapped her sports sunglasses on halfway through the run, and continued without breaking stride for a second. Occasionally they came onto a road, but not for long; they ran up hills and down into brooks and through woods, across fields, dodging all of the obstacles of nature and people walking their dogs, cars, strollers; Rose recognised the home-stretch and pushed herself further as they neared the football-field of Baker High. The last lap was around the fenced-off football-field, in which the football team was having a morning practice before their first game of the year, up the bleachers steps, to the water-fountain. Rose smacked her palm against the ticket-booth wall and felt her knees knocking together as Jake came up behind her and sneakers clattered on the metal bleachers. The warm-down run was just around the unkempt field, and, when they were done, they got water at the fountain and Miss Smith met with each of them to tell them what they needed to work on.

"Slow down!" Miss Smith laughed. "You set a very fast pace, Rosie! Some of us couldn't keep up." Pearl had been forced to duck into the girls' bathrooms; Aimee was tending to her while the sounds of her retching escaped the vents in the wall. "I'm just kidding. You know your best pace. The best advice I can give is stick to it; push yourself. Add another few minutes to your run every day. Go for distance, not speed."

"Yes ma'am," Rose panted, nodding, and ran her arm across her lips to get rid of the sweat.

"Alright; locker-rooms are open for showers if you don't wanna wait," Miss Smith called. "Otherwise, I'll see you on Monday. Good job, everyone. How's Pearl?"

"She'll be okay," Aimee said, striding out of the bathrooms, looking flush-faced but pretty, and her eyes were sparkling. "She didn't train much over the summer."

"Well, she's feeling it now," Miss Smith said; Aimee smiled at Rose.

"You heading off home?"

"Yeah. Regina wants to go to the Farmer's Market," Rose said, panting; her adrenaline was giving her the most gorgeous high.

"Cool, cool," Aimee smiled. When Pearl stumbled out of the bathrooms, she, Rose and Aimee made their way to the parking-lot;

"Well, I guess I'll see you Monday," Aimee smiled, as she and Pearl got into their respective cars; Rose said goodbye, climbed into her truck, and drove back to the McGowans'. Regina was waiting in the kitchen after Rose had showered and done her hair and makeup, and in the hopes of procuring a bookcase for Rose's room, they took her truck downtown, parked on Second Street, and made their way to West Angela Street for the Farmer's Market, which filled the wide street with gazebos and stalls selling everything from beads to kettle-corn to crockery, from antiques to fresh vegetables and fruit, from cured meats to second-hand books, jewellery to kids toys, clothes to crafts, to organic lotions and cosmetics, from puppies to careers in the Fire Department, to Girl Scout sign-ups, from homemade jams and preserves to gourmet cheese and olives, from wine to face-painting to fresh homemade apple cider. Food services were scattered along the wide, long street, which ended on one side with a long stretch of lawn devoted to the arrangements of used furniture on one half and rescue animals in the other. The air was rich with the spices and scents of the many food services, the chatter of the dozens of people milling around checking out the sellers' wares, the sound of the dogs barking joyously in the park and children gurgling with laughter; it was hot and humid but Rose found it much pleasanter than North Carolina in midday heat; there was a gentle breeze that cooled the guys popping the kettle-corn.

Rose could tell Regina had rarely been at her leisure to explore what the Farmer's Market had to offer, and while they browsed the stalls, she knew Regina was forever thinking of her family; she picked out books for Sean at the second-hand book stall, bought some Asian pears that Caleb would enjoy, looked into paints and canvases for Finn at the art supplies stall, even bought sheet music for John—the owner of the beautiful grand-piano in the living-room—and some used CDs Rose helped her pick out for Doug, bought a few old baseball cards for Miller and a new baseball mitt for Ian. She realised that Regina's entire adult life had been about her husband and her children. It was no wonder she had seemed so stressful when she had arrived in North Carolina.

But Rose thought that her being with Regina made her a little more relaxed; they took the Farmer's Market at their leisure; Rose bought a very pretty beaded bracelet from a jewellery stall, picked out almost two dozen used books at a dollar apiece including _Jane Austen's Sewing Box_, which would give her some projects to work on—glad she had parked the truck so close so she and Regina could dump their purchases in the back to return to the market when things got too heavy—helped Regina vaguely plan the week's meals with the gorgeous fresh fruit and vegetables they bought from the greengrocer; Rose had mentioned to Regina that she knitted as a hobby and they looked out some gorgeous yarns at the craft stall; Regina bought a bottle of lotion that smelled absolutely gorgeous, homemade from figs and honey; they bought jars of the honey Rose had liked, some jams and chutneys, bought burritos at the Mexican food stall and a huge bag of freshly popped kettle-corn for lunch, tried the homemade apple cider and the cheese samples, and Rose had to stop Regina from acting on impulse and adopting the most adorable chocolate-brown Labrador puppy called Poppy.

They found a sturdy bookcase amongst the furniture set out in the John Belucchi Memorial Park that would go well with the other furniture in Rose's bedroom, and Rose had to retrieve her truck because they couldn't carry it _and_ their new bags full of fruit and vegetables; while Regina directed two guys in putting the bookcase (which they had acquired for ten dollars; a bargain) Rose slipped back down the West Angela Street to the flower stall. She picked out a small but tall posy of gladioli, freesias, tuberoses, lilies and three late-summer peonies, filled it out with fresh flowering mint, and met Regina back where she had parked the truck.

"These are for you," she said softly, handing over the bouquet to Regina. The look that came over Regina's face at the sight of the pretty posy made anything Rose had suffered this last week worthwhile. She wondered if any of the McGowan boys had ever treated their mom to a posy of flowers, or even offered to do some ironing or help cook dinner. She doubted it.

"Rosie, thank you!" Regina beamed, her eyes glittering even behind her stylish designer sunglasses. "I can't remember the last time anybody bought me flowers! They're gorgeous! Are these freesias? They're my favourites, and such a gorgeous colour, too."

The boys were playing another game of ultimate Frisbee in the front lawn when Rose pulled into the property in her truck; the windows had been scrolled down and she and Regina had been chatting without the music on; they heard Ian and Caleb shouting and laughing, saw Sean dive to grab Finn by the ankle, grabbed hold of the hem of his jeans and Finn fell spectacularly, just as he collided with John.

Rose knew she was avoiding the boys, but she had had such a pleasant day, first with the cross-country team, and then with Regina, she didn't want to spoil it with any of Doug's condescending looks or awkward silences. She offered to make dinner, and while Regina enjoyed an unheard-of Saturday afternoon with nothing to do but paint her toenails in the living-room, watching a soap, Rose set about using the vegetables she and Regina had bought at the market, in particular the gorgeous black-purple eggplants.

She filled two large lasagne dishes with lamb moussaka, sprinkled them with cheese and put them in the oven. After she had washed the dishes she had used to prep for the assembly of the meal, she found a big salad bowl and started cutting up red onion, peppers, cucumber, black olives, feta cheese and fresh garden-grown tomatoes for a Greek salad, mixing her dad's special salad dressing—and a bowl of plain lettuce for the kids. She set the table, tidied the kitchen, and by the time the boys came in from their game, she had pitchers of ice-water ready and the moussaka was cooled enough to be eaten and enjoyed, warm enough to savour all the flavours.

After showers—or a hosing-down in the backyard courtesy of John and the hosepipe, as was the case with Ian and Caleb, who'd gotten thoroughly overexcited about the possibility of a water-fight and were sorely disappointed—the guys, including John, filed into the kitchen, grumbling about being hungry; Regina took her place at the head of the table next to John and the guys filed into their assigned seats. Regina handed over serving duties to Rose, as she had cooked, and Rose served the moussaka up.

Sean put his book down to eat, which was a first. Usually he sat reading and absently shovelling food into his mouth; Caleb said he liked eggplant now; John was in ecstasy over the meal because it was such a novelty recipe, Regina hardly even less so because she hadn't had to cook it; Doug choked and pretended to retch when Regina told them all the meal was Rose's working; Finn had already cleared his plate by that time and helping himself to seconds, and stared at Rose until she blushed.

"You can _cook_?"

"Yes." She flushed again and nodded, taking another helping of the Greek salad, and a small square of moussaka because it _was_ one of the best she had ever made—which said something. Moussaka was her specialty.

"_And_ she bought me flowers," Regina said, pointing towards the living-room, where Rose knew she had spent half an hour arranging the posy Rose had bought her into one a dusty vase she had found hidden deep at the back of a utility closet.

"You're making us all look bad," Evan remarked, with a twinkly smile.

"You have no idea," Regina said reprovingly, eyeing her husband, who had craned his neck to observe the flowers on the coffee-table in the best-room.

After dinner, Rose sat back and played cards at the table with Regina and John while the boys, for once, worked together to clean up the kitchen. They were _quiet_, too. Usually Doug started an argument and John had to get involved with smacking his sons around the backs of their heads or sending one of them out of the room or leaving the dishes for Regina or poor Miller to do instead because the others were making such a fuss.

* * *

Sunday was Rose's rest day. She went for a light jog early in the morning, and since the morning was so fine, She tugged on a pair of tight dark jeggings, a white baby-tee and her dad's oldest, most broken-in Tar Heels baseball cap, got a glass of cloudy lemonade, turned on some classical music—Tchaikovsky, her favourite 'smart music' to work to—and did her homework out on the patio, in the shade, with sunlight bathed around her, sparkling through the leaves of the climbing-tree. It was so pleasant not to be sweating buckets and swatting mosquitoes just stepping out of the back-door; in North Carolina it was _way_ too hot to sit outside and do her homework, but here in Boston the summer was dwindling idly away. A few of the trees around town had already begun to turn, just delicately, not too noticeably, but definitely changing, hinting the arrival of fall. After finishing her math homework without any major mental breakdowns at her own lack of math skills, making the assigned notes for History and reading the next scent of _A Midsummer Night's Dream_, Rose did some studying on Asperger's Syndrome and thought it might be the right time to try and implement some of the stuff she had learned.

Dropping downstairs into the hallway after putting her books away, she realised at once why the house was so quiet; everyone save Miller and Regina was sitting in the living-room—utilising the enormous flat-screen TV for the Yankees-Red Sox baseball game. Everyone wore battered Red Sox baseball caps, t-shirts or jerseys, and the coffee-table was loaded with everything from mini pretzels to cream sodas and candy. Caleb, sucking his thumb, sat in his father's lap wearing an oversize baseball jersey and cap, and his eyes twinkled when he noticed her, and he smiled and waved slightly using the hand clamped to his mouth. Everyone else was riveted. Rose waited until the Yankees' manager came out to retire his pitcher.

"Do you know where Miller is?" Rose asked, glancing around the room, and wondering why, during a Yankees-Red Sox game, Miller was absent.

"Basement," John said, barely glancing away from the screen.

"He's not allowed to watch the Yankees-Red Sox games with us," Evan explained. "Because you know, Dad would kill him."

"Oh, I see," Rose smiled, flushing warmly. She made sure she wasn't blocking anyone's view, took a bag of tortilla chips and two sodas, and found her way down to the basement.

Sitting alone on a beanbag chair in his A-Rod t-shirt and Yankees cap was Miller, watching the same game his family was watching upstairs. Rose was struck at once by the loneliness of the whole thing, and wondered if John knew what it was like for Miller, to sit here alone when all his family was congregated upstairs.

"Hi, Miller," she said quietly, slipping down the last few steps.

"The Yankees are on," Miller said, not looking away from the screen despite it being a commercial break.

"Yeah, I heard," Rose said softly. "That's why I brought you these. I thought you might want a snack." She put the bag of tortilla chips and the sodas on the floor by him. "Do you mind if I watch with you?"

There was a long pause, and then, "Okay." Rose grabbed the other beanbag chair and sank into it next to Miller. She wasn't as good with baseball as basketball; truth be told, she only liked _playing_ baseball; she loved _watching_ basketball as well as playing it—well, playing it in the backyard with her daddy. Mostly because she and her dad would do what the McGowans were doing upstairs and get all kitted out with their team memorabilia and usually Pogue and his dad would come over, their moms would make snacks, and they'd either celebrate with a barbecue or nurse injuries with barbecue.

When another commercial break came on, Rose glanced at Miller, trying to organise the right words.

"So, Miller…I was hoping we could talk a little bit," she said softly. "I'd like to get to know you a little better." Miller swallowed.

"What do you mean?"

"Um…well, I know you like baseball, and I _know_ you liked my moussaka last night," Rose smiled; Miller still didn't look at her, "but that's about all. And wouldn't you like to know me a little better?"

"I guess," Miller said.

"I'm glad. What would you like to know?" Rose asked. Miller rubbed his palms on the beanbag chair, looking down at the floor. He kept rubbing faster and faster until his face started to turn red. The articles Rose had read warned something like this might happen.

"Okay, that's okay; how about we try something else, yeah?" Rose said quietly, licking her lips. "I think I know how you can ask me anything you want." Miller turned his blotchy face away from her slightly, pausing his rubbing.

"How?"

"Okay, well, how about you tell me something about the Yankees, anything at all. You know a lot about them, don't you," Rose smiled.

"Yeah…"

"Good. So, tell me something about the Yankees, and then ask me a question about me right after," Rose said. "Do you think you can do that?"

"I can do it," Miller said quietly, but the tone of his voice sounded strongly of defiance.

"Good." Miller glanced at her for a split-second, then gazed at the floor again.

"The Yankees were the first team ever to win four World Series in a row. Why do you smell like that?" he asked.

That was the last thing Rose had expected; he surprised her so much she laughed out loud, which was the first time she'd laughed like that in weeks. Miller looked at her uncertainly, and then laughed too. His laugh was deeper than she would have expected, more like Finn's voice.

"Why do I smell like what?" Rose smiled.

"Like…Mom's favourite flowers," Miller said. "The flowers in the living-room, the little lilac-coloured ones."

"Oh. They're freesias. It's my perfume," Rose smiled, her cheeks flushing. "I don't believe you've noticed that. And they say most guys are clueless about that sort of thing." Miller smiled and nodded.

"Derek Jeter was the first captain of the Yankees since Thurman Munson," Miller said. "Are you gonna live with us forever?"

This time Miller looked up at her, right in the eye, for a good few seconds. Her stomach clenched with the expression in those clear, pale-blue eyes, and she blushed.

"I don't know… Maybe this year and next year… Why? Is it so terrible, me being here?" she teased softly, though her heart sank, recalling the hushed conversation in Evan's room on Thursday night. Miller shrugged and turned his attention back to the TV, which was coming back from the break.

"It's okay," he said, but he was smiling. "Game's back on." Smiling, Rose turned _her_ attention back on the game.

The Yankees slaughtered the Red Sox, and Rose and Miller's cheers echoed in the otherwise empty room; upstairs, the boys and John were all howling with grief and indignation. After the game ended, Rose and Miller started up their fact-question tactic for a little while, until Regina called them upstairs for dinner.

She couldn't say she had had the best week in the world. Darnell Wilcox's party had been a high point. She enjoyed cross-country practices. And seeing how much effort Miller was willing to put into getting to know her made Rose feel a little more wanted in the house. Between him and Regina, Rose's weekend wasn't a bust.

* * *

**A.N.**: I think I have a crush on Miller. Review, please!


	11. Girl Talk

**A.N.**: Erm…Yes. Please review!

* * *

**Rose Amongst Thorns**

Chapter Eleven

_Girl-talk_

* * *

On Monday during Art, Rose was had started sketching away and having a quiet chat with Pearl, who was knitting something to put in her fashion-design portfolio, when there was a rustle of movement and someone squatted down beside her end of the table. By the paint-streaked floppy blonde hair, she knew instantly who it was even without having to look more than out of the corner of her eye.

"Hey, Finn," she said quietly, licking her lips.

"Hey," he said softly, offering her his packet of Fruit Gushers. "So, what's up?"

"Hm?" Rose glanced at him and turned back to her sketchpad. She was trying to get the exact way Miller's mouth dimpled at the corners whenever he pouted thoughtfully. He had the most amazing lips she had ever seen. Well, almost. Finn's were just as, if not more beautiful.

"You were real quiet this weekend," Finn said. "I mean, you're not chatty at the best of times, but you were like…_silent_." Rose shifted one shoulder in a would-be nonchalant shrug. He had noticed that, had he? Yet he'd taken no pains to talk to her, either. He hadn't come downstairs to watch the game with her and Miller, hadn't helped her make more moussaka than she'd ever made in one sitting, or come to the Farmer's Market with her and his mom. He'd taken the canvases and paints from Regina and disappeared after dinner on Saturday.

"Yes, well…I heard you all having a meeting about me on Thursday. So, sorry if I wasn't in the mood to go out of my way to be nice when I'm not wanted," Rose said, her cheeks flushing with a combination of hurt and anger—mostly hurt. Finn froze, staring at her.

"Oh. Okay. You…Good." Rose glanced up.

"_Good_?" Finn blushed. She had never seen a prettier boy than when he blushed. _Bastard_. Boys who made her feel so shitty didn't _get_ to be pretty.

"Sorry—I do that sometimes. I was gonna say, 'You did?' but I wanted to say, 'Not good,' as well," he said, absentmindedly tearing up his Fruit Gushers wrapper. "I have my own special language in awkward situations. So…you heard us."

Rose turned back to her drawing, nodding. Finn's hand curled over her wrist, and he rubbed his thumb against her skin.

"Rose, I'm so sorry you had to hear that," he said earnestly. "You know it has nothing to do with you, personally, don't you?"

"What do you mean?" Rose said hollowly; it had sounded pretty personal to her. In Doug's mind, she had ruined their family. Finn sighed heavily.

"Look, okay, we were just… We're all just very used to the way things were," Finn said, sighing again.

"So was I," Rose said miserably. Finn bit his lip, his eyes softening to the most wonderful early-dawn blue.

"You know how when you get a cut, white blood-cells attack any sign of infection? Well, that's kind of how we've reacted to you coming to live with us," Finn shrugged.

"You're comparing me to a disease?"

"You know what I mean—you're a foreign body in our system," Finn smiled softly. "Eventually the guys'll come round. I mean, they just have to sit back and think about things from _your_ perspective and they'll see who's worse-off."

"The guys?" Rose murmured. Finn smiled.

"Having you around is…_different_. But if having you here means having your cooking, I think I can deal," Finn smirked, and Rose had to smile in response. His eyes were so playful and glittery. "Where'd you learn to cook like that, anyway?"

Rose's smile faded away, and she fiddled with her pencil; Finn's hand was still curled warmly over her forearm, his thumb sending tingles through her skin. "Um…last year my mom…stopped taking care of us. So I had to."

"What d'you mean?" Finn asked curiously. "Stopped taking care of you how?"

"She started drinking, for one," Rose said, and her cheeks flamed. She'd never even told Pogue that; he'd just always known, so she hadn't had to. Finn was the first person she'd ever told that she knew her mom had started drinking heavily after what happened to Lucia. "Whatever," she sighed heavily. "So, I learned to cook."

"Well, you learned well," Finn smiled, but it didn't quite reach his eyes, which were fixed on Rose's face and betraying a whirlwind of thoughts. "So…Whaddaya say? Stop tiptoeing round the house like a sylph? Hm? 'Cause, you ignore my brothers, they'll only turn the screws harder. And, in case you haven't notice, we're kind of _everywhere_. High school's gonna seem an eternity if you turn into the Invisible Girl. The in-their-face tactic is pretty much all my brothers will respond to."

"That's what Pogue said," Rose sighed softly.

"You talked to your friend about this?"

"I talk to Pogue about everything," Rose shrugged. Finn winced subtly. Was he regretting, or ashamed of, the actions of his brothers, because Rose had told someone about them? That she had felt the need to call her best-friend in North Carolina because of what she had overheard? _Well, good; he should be_, Rose thought.

* * *

It was a game-day, and when Rose emerged from the lunch-line later that afternoon, her tray laden down with a water bottle, orange juice, chocolate milk, a yoghurt, an apple and a Spanish omelette, Miller was already sitting at his picnic table in the courtyard, his headphones in place. She had brought _Gone With the Wind_ to read, knowing there was no chance Miller would miss the game to continue their fact-question game.

"_Rose_! Over here!"

Aimee waved from the centre of the cafeteria. Glancing at Miller, who was ensconced in his game and his lunch, Rose thought he might forgive her for not sitting with him, and made a beeline for Aimee's table, where she sat with Pearl and several other girls Rose thought she might know from some of her classes.

"Hey," Aimee said, smiling, as she dropped back into her chair. Rose smiled, flushed embarrassedly at the friends Rose didn't know who were staring at her, and awkwardly sat down opposite Pearl, who reached across the table, grabbed Rose's hand, and held her still while she measured yet _another_ bracelet.

"Have you met Jenna and Ria?" Aimee asked, as Pearl stuck her tongue out in concentration, measuring the bracelet. Rose glanced at the two unfamiliar girls sharing Aimee and Pearl's table. Jenna had a long braid down her back and wore stylish Aviator glasses; Ria had the intense expression of a girl who could easily find the chinks in a suit of armour. Rose and Pogue had a few friends like her back home, and after a few war-wounds, Rose knew how to handle them now.

"No…hi," Rose said bashfully, waving slightly.

"Hi," Jenna said, pushing her glasses up her nose. "You're in my French class, right?"

"Second period with Monsieur Gilliard?" Rose asked. "I don't think he likes me very much."

"That's 'cause you know more French than he does," Jenna grinned. "Where'd you learn?"

"Oh… I was born in Paris," Rose said quietly, blushing when Jenna's eyebrows rose. "I went to a French pre-school and learned there, and when we left my mom kept speaking French to me so I wouldn't forget."

"So, Rose, let's get down to it," Ria said seriously, leaning her elbows on the table. "How, exactly, did you end up bunking in boy heaven?"

Rose blinked. "Boy heaven—oh, do you mean the McGowans'? I wouldn't exactly call it heaven," she said quietly. The girls all made exclamations of incredulity.

"Not boy-heaven!" Aimee laughed. "Are you kidding—they're like the hotness brigade." Rose laughed and took a sip of juice. "What? They are! I still can't believe my sister is dating one of them."

"Please. Once those two both won best-looking in eighth grade, we all knew they were gonna be swapping saliva sooner or later," Ria said, digging into her pasta.

"Ria!"

"Ew," Aimee grimaced.

"So…what?" Ria said, addressing Rose. "Did you win some contest or something?" Rose flushed; she didn't really want to tell them _why_ she was living with the McGowans, because she didn't want the sympathetic looks and hushed voices she had dealt with in North Carolina. That was the only thing she liked here; no one knew—except the McGowans—what had happened to her parents. But at Ria's intense expression, Rose licked her lips and fiddled with her spork.

"Um…_no_," she said quietly. "My parents died two weeks ago."

Eyes widened. Jaws slackened. Rose saw it all, the familiar '_oh-shit_' moment when people realised they were talking to a recently-bereaved orphan. "My mom and Regina McGowan were best-friends in high-school, and my parents left me to John and Regina's guardianship in their will."

"Oh…"

"So, have you, like, seen any of them naked?" Ria asked; Rose knew she had asked for two reasons; a, she was genuinely curious, and b, she had wanted to stop the awkward silence. Rose was very grateful. Jenna, Aimee and Pearl were all rapt with attention. Rose laughed and blushed.

"No, I have not seen any of them naked," she smiled. She looked around and leaned in toward the table. "But I have seen most of them in their boxers."

Jenna nearly swooned. "Oh my gosh, Evan McGowan in his boxers. What was it like?"

"Well, it was first thing in the morning, so what do you think?" Rose asked, smiling playfully. Pearl had raised her Gatorade to her lips just as Rose had spoken, promptly choked and spat out the mouthful of blue water all over Rose and Aimee.

"Urgh! Pearl!"

"Sorry!" Pearl choked, her big eyes wider than usual. "Evan McGowan is so perfect," she said, when she had recovered. "I had my first ever sexual daydream about him."

"Really?"

"I think most of us did," Aimee replied.

"I didn't," Rose smiled. "Mine was Gerard Butler." She almost swooned, and smiled at the girls' laughter.

"_How_ can you not think it's heaven, living with the McGowans?" Jenna asked curiously. Rose laughed shortly, and recounted everything that had happened that first morning of her arrival in Boston. The girls were all rolling around in their seats, clutching their stomachs and crying with laughter by the time she had ended her story—including the fainting incident after being smacked in the face by a basketball, and the major third-wheel syndrome with Evan and Hailey, driving home from school that first day.

"Evan McGowan is such a flirt," Aimee said thoughtfully, shaking her head and frowning.

"_That's_ true," Ria said. "That boy will flirt with anyone, anywhere, anytime. Even the ugly girls."

"Ria!" her friends shouted.

"What? It's a good thing!" Ria countered, eyes wide. "To have an Adonis like that flirting with the trolls. It's gotta be good for the self-esteem."

Rose glanced across the room, to where the footballer, cheerleader, Abercrombie types were congregated; Darnell Wilcox caught her eye and waved; Rose smiled and waved back. She scanned the crowd and found Evan, chatting animatedly with three pretty cheerleader-types who were all rapt with attention and playing with their hair and smiling coquettishly. She hadn't noticed before; Ria was right. Then she remembered Darnell's birthday-party, the way Evan had acted after Hailey had disappeared for the night. Like he was single. He had flirted with anyone—male or female, especially after he'd had a few drinks—and had been smiley and good-natured and laughing, and made people smile, particularly the girls. But Rose had never seen him kiss another girl at the party, or do anything untoward to them, like making a move. Perhaps he was just one of those inherently flirty people; Pogue was like that, sometimes. He was such a social whore.

"Sorry. Ria doesn't realise that not all of us need attention from cute boys in order to have self-esteem," Jenna said, pushing her glasses up on her nose.

"Well, whatever," Aimee sighed. "I just wish he would quit it already. He's gonna give Hailey an aneurysm and the rest of my family will suffer the consequences."

"She doesn't like it," Rose guessed, glancing back at Darnell's table, and found Hailey, frowning while she talked with her friends, her eyes flickering occasionally to Evan, oblivious to her glares.

"Hates it," Aimee said. "She lives for that guy, I swear. To be honest, I don't see what the big deal is. He can be kind of a jerk and he isn't even the hottest one."

"Oh, no. That would be Finn," Ria put in.

"Really?" Rose blinked. She knew Finn was pretty, but Evan had that Abercrombie appeal. Of course, Sean had the gorgeous, rugged handsomeness inherent in young men who rode Harleys. She had no comment on Doug. _Miller_ was _very_ good-looking, when he raised his eyes off the floor. She didn't know which she preferred to look at—well, no, that wasn't true; since Miller was the only guy in the whole family who actually _talked_ to her (even if he couldn't sometimes bring himself to _look_ at her, which she understood) she liked looking at him most. He did have the most lush lips she had ever seen on a boy. And the thick, curling eyelashes he and Finn shared. But then, Finn had those wonderfully expressive grey-blue eyes…

"Evan is _so_ much hotter than Finn!" Pearl put in.

"Actually, I was talking about Miller," Aimee said, blushing.

"_Miller_?" they all repeated, dumbstruck. Aimee glanced across the cafeteria at the courtyard, where Miller was leaning back in his seat, listening to his radio. "I don't know. There's just something about him," she said, narrowing her eyes wistfully as she watched him.

"Yeah, something weird," Ria said. Rose glanced her. Ria was the kind of girl who said what was on her mind and never said anything she didn't mean. If she could be so callous about someone she didn't even know, Rose could only assume that it wasn't common knowledge that Miller had Asperger's.

"Ria!" her friends scolded. Rose watched Miller, and the way Aimee was looking at him. Taking away what she knew about Miller, looking at him from a complete outsider's perspective…she saw a very cute, shy guy.

"I think I see it," she said slowly, tilting her head to one side thoughtfully, watching Miller. "He's…_strong and silent_."

"Yeah," Aimee said, with a bashful smile, sitting up straight. "Not that I could ever get a guy like that. Or any guy."

"What are you talking about?" Rose asked, frowning bemusedly.

"Please. Look at me," Aimee sighed. Rose did, frowning. She saw the same cheekbones Hailey had, flushed naturally from gym, her last class, glossy blonde hair that had never seen any colour but its own, and wide, friendly eyes. Aimee had broad shoulders, a lot of muscle, and maybe a little extra meat on her bones that nevertheless gave her some great curves. She was hardly huge.

"I'm looking. What's wrong with you?" Rose asked, confused. She was very funny, friendly, and quite sweet, and cared about other people's feelings. Why wouldn't any guy be lucky to be given a chance to date Aimee?

"Come on! My arms are thicker than Hailey's calves," Aimee said, frowning. "Give me a break."

"We've been telling her for years that she's hands down the better-looking Farmer," Ria said, shaking her head. Rose glanced from Aimee to her sister, across the cafeteria.

"Hailey wears too much makeup," Rose said, frowning, and glanced at Aimee. "And your smile is prettier." Aimee just shook her head.

"Whatever! You guys know I'm fine with my size. Someday some guy will totally fall in love with me. Just not in high school," Aimee sighed. "Boys in high school are too superficial." Evan, yes. Rose got the impression he and his clique were _those_ kinds of people, the ones who would smile to your face and cut you up behind your back without a second's hesitance.

"Not all high-school boys," Rose said, nodding towards the courtyard. Aimee followed her eyes to Miller, who now sat leaning back against the tree right behind his seat, his eyes closed, and a tiny smile tweaking the corners of those gorgeous lips of his as he listened to the radio commentator, bathed in sunlight.

"Have you ever seen Miller's smile?" Rose asked, and Aimee frowned.

"No, I don't think I have. He's always looking at the floor," Aimee said thoughtfully. Rose could tell Aimee knew that because she spent a lot of time looking wistfully after Miller, and smiled.

"It will take your breath away," she said softly. "Trust me." Aimee bit her bottom lip and glanced over at Miller again. Suddenly he raised his fists in the air and cheered, startling the Goths across the courtyard. Aimee laughed and returned to her salad, a smile tugging at her lips.

"Well, whatever, I still say it's Finn," Ria said, gazing past Rose's shoulder. "You guys just don't have the same refined tastes as me. I like the deep, soulful type. I mean, just _look_ at the boy! Those blue eyes, that just-got-out-of-bed hair. And look at the way he dresses. Any guy that can just throw on whatever and still be that beautiful has got my vote."

Rose glanced over her shoulder and saw Finn, sitting at a table under the window, wearing a faded black t-shirt, and baggy jeans tucked messily into his ever-present paint-splattered boots, which were half-laced up and battered and broken-in till they looked as soft as butter. The sun poured in through the windows, highlighting his blonde hair and intense expression, making his eyes glow brightly, even from the distance Rose sat from him. He was surrounded by artsy types—some of them she recognised from Art class—who were all laughing and joking with each other, but Finn's concentration was riveted on the sketchbook propped up on his knee; he sat with his foot tucked up on the chair, the other outstretched, and the muscles of his tanned arms rippled slightly as his hand moved quickly across the page of the sketchbook. Even when someone threw an orange past his nose, he barely looked up.

"Well, you do have to admire that level of concentration," Jenna acquiesced.

"I just love it when he's in his football uniform," Aimee said, grinning shyly.

"Finn's on the football team?" Rose asked, surprised. She hadn't thought he was interested in sports very much—and she was certain he would have caught a ride home with her and Evan if he was at afternoon practices.

"Oh, yeah! He's on the varsity, too," Aimee said, nodding. "His butt is _so_ cute in those shiny pants they wear."

"_Finn's_ on the football team?" Rose repeated. "I've never seen him around the locker-rooms after training."

"He usually gets a ride home with friends he has on the team," Aimee said knowledgably. "He's real modest about being on the team, too, even though he's the starting fullback, and he's only a junior. All the cheerleaders love him." That was new; it explained why Finn was surprisingly muscular for an artist.

"Yeah, but it's totally pointless," Ria sighed sadly. "That babe only has eyes for one girl."

"Really?" Rose glanced up, eyes widening with intrigue. _Finally; dirt!_ "Who?" Ria pointed with her plastic fork.

"Kayla Bird." The way she said those two words, Rose knew exactly what Ria thought of the tall, willowy, olive-skinned beauty who floated over to Finn's table in a long skirt and black boots. She lifted a sheet of wavy light-brown hair over her shoulder as she sat; Finn glanced up, saw her, and instantly closed the sketchbook.

"Who is she?" Rose asked quietly.

"She's a junior. Dancer, beautiful, perpetually tan," Ria said.

"She wears string bikinis at the town pool," Aimee added. "This is Massachusetts. I mean, who can compete with that?"

"She's too skinny," Pearl remarked, her tongue poking between her lips as she threaded tiny seed-beads onto the bracelet she was working on. Rose glanced at Kayla again. She was wearing a white tank top, and next to the strap, she had a small birthmark; she wore a delicate, antique-looking gold watch on a slender wrist. Everything about her was graceful, but looking closer, Rose saw Pearl was right; she could see the curve of the back of Kayla's ribs through the flimsy fabric of her top, and her wrist-bone was prominent against her skin. Still, she was beautiful. Even when she lifted her water-bottle to twist open the top, she looked like a ballerina. Rose turned back to the girls.

"Finn would be interested in someone like her?" she asked. She would have thought Finn would like…well, not an anorexic dancer, that's who. Maybe a _normal_ girl, like Aimee; she had once thought Finn might like Pearl. She could see it; they were both quite quirky.

"Interested? He's _obsessed_," Ria laughed. "He's always staring at her. Of course, Kayla's too stuck-up to notice. _I'd_ notice if Finn McGowan was staring at _me_."

"Who's your favourite McGowan, Rose?" Jenna asked, smiling. Rose shrugged, blushing.

"I know that one!" Pearl blurted, grinning. "_Finn_. He was practically holding your hand today in Art."

"He was not."

"Yes he was—he was doing this," Pearl said to the others, and curled her hand over Rose's wrist the way Finn had earlier, rubbing her thumb against Rose's skin. "And you didn't see, 'cause you were looking at your drawing, but he had this _face_ when he looked at you. Like you were like, I don't know, the only woman in the universe." Pearl spoke with the candidness of a child, and strangely it didn't make her sound naïve at all. On the contrary, Pearl's innocent honesty made her utterly endearing. If a little embarrassing.

"He did not!"

"He _did_!" Pearl protested adamantly. "I've read enough romance novels to know what _that_ look means. _I_ could tell he likes you. You didn't see the look because you kept blushing. You blush an awful lot, Rose."

"I do," Rose said softly, feeling her cheeks flush yet again.

"Well, I think Finn likes it," Pearl said. "Every time you blushed, he'd look at your cheeks and smile. You know, Ria, the way he does with his _eyes_."

"I _love_ how he does that," Ria swooned. "So is Finn your favourite?"

"I…I don't know. I don't know any of them well enough to have favourites," Rose said honestly.

"Okay, but who do you like _looking_ at the most?" Ria pressed.

"I don't know. They're all pretty," Rose said, blushing. "But they don't like me, anyway."

"What? Why not?"

For the rest of lunchtime, all Rose and the girls talked about were the McGowan boys. Rose learned a lot about Evan and Finn, the two most popular McGowan brothers; she told _them_ about living with said popular guys, about Pogue and her other friends in North Carolina, the first party of the year this coming Friday, and when they should all get together to go to the mall to buy new outfits for it.

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**A.N.**: Please review.


	12. Rose Plays Dr Phil

**A.N.**: Okay, I made a slight change to chapter eleven, with the girls telling Rose that Finn is on the varsity football team, as fullback, which is instrumental to a plot point in this story later on (I've been watching Friday Night Lights and wanted Finn to play Riggins' position).

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**Rose Amongst Thorns**

Chapter Twelve

_Rose Plays Dr Phil_

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Somehow Rose survived cross-country practice. She hadn't had any trouble with the run, or with her pace or endurance or anything.

One of her teammates was trying to kill her.

It might have had something to do with Hailey's mood, and the conversation Rose had overheard on her way to the locker-room after Math;

* * *

"…know I don't mean anything by it." Evan.

"It doesn't matter if _I_ know that. _They_ don't know that," Hailey's voice replied; they were standing behind one of the columns keeping up the courtyard cover. "Half the girls in school are looking at me like they know something I don't know. Do you have any idea what that feels like?"

"I don't understand. What do they know that you don't?" Evan replied.

"They think that you like them, Evan!" Hailey replied. "They think they have something over me because you flirt with them right in front of my face, like they're winning some competition by it." There was an exhalation of breath. Rose glanced around; the small courtyard area between the gym and locker-rooms was empty, and she was hidden out of sight. She knew she shouldn't spy, but given Hailey's attitude toward her, and Finn's encouragement to get involved with his brothers' lives, this was good stuff. Maybe she could talk to Evan about it, help him or something. Give him a female perspective for what Hailey was feeling.

"Hailey, that's just the way I am," Evan said earnestly. "I'm a friendly person."

"Yeah, right," Hailey said, sarcasm dripping from her voice.

"I am! And you knew that going in," Evan replied. He sounded like he might be frowning. "Come on, don't you trust me?" _Nice move_, Rose thought. Nothing like a little guilt-tripping to solve problems in a relationship.

"Of course I do," Hailey said. "It's just…well…imagine how you'd feel if it seemed like every guy in school wanted _me_." Rose blinked; Hailey actually sounded _vulnerable_ there. Either she was just as sensitive as Rose was and better at hiding it, or she was the world's most talented actress.

"Well, they do," Evan said lightly. True enough; Rose rarely saw Hailey in the corridors without a gaggle of sexually frustrated teenage boys ogling after her and the belts she wore as skirts.

"Evan, I'm trying to be serious here!"

"Fine! Fine! What do you want me to do? Stop talking to girls entirely?" Evan asked, and Rose smiled to herself; he sounded frustrated and sarcastic, not like himself at all.

"Sounds like a plan to me," Hailey replied. Rose's jaw dropped.

"I don't believe you," Evan said calmly, his voice even and, Rose realised, quite dangerous. Rose shook her head, reached for the locker-room lobby door and darted inside. She knew it wasn't easy dating someone like Evan. She had dated—not for very long—a guy a lot like Evan; popular, extroverted, flirtatious, beautiful. So she knew it wasn't easy, that there was always someone looking to find chinks in the armour of the relationship and exploit it to take the guy away for herself. But if she had learned anything from that short relationship, and watching the way Pogue worked with girls, she knew that if Hailey had to work this hard, something just wasn't clicking.

* * *

So Hailey's frustration and anger at Evan was channelled ruthlessly on Rose. But no matter how many times Rose bit the dirt, no matter how many bruises she would wake up with tomorrow, no matter how bloody her knees and palms got, no matter how much dirt got into the wounds from constant tripping up as they ran through the woods and fields and brooks behind the school, Rose did not give Hailey the satisfaction of seeing her angry or upset.

Rose's indignation at being treated so gave her the adrenaline she needed to keep pace with Jake, and get best time—again—for their long run. Rose was covered in dirt, bloodied, bruised beyond belief, but exhilarated by a combination of adrenaline and righteous indignation at Hailey. That exhilaration—and the adrenaline that caused it—rendered the pain Rose _should_ have been feeling almost numbed, until her shower, when the water hit the open wounds and washed away the dirt and muck and stung like hell. Miss Smith bandaged Rose's bloody knees, covered the cuts made by the teeth of Hailey's running shoes with a large sticky band-aid on the back of her left thigh where Hailey had run over her after knocking her to the ground, bandaged and taped her right elbow, which had been battered and bruised painfully, but could do nothing of the pain in Rose's left hip, which rendered walking, after she had warmed down, very painful. Miss Smith gave her a band-aid for the cut on her jaw and hauled Hailey into her office after Rose had left, hobbling like an eighty-year-old woman in desperate need of a hip replacement.

"You look like you've done five rounds with Mike Tyson," Aimee cringed in sympathy.

"I don't think I'd last even _one_ round with Mike Tyson," Rose grumbled, pain battering every single inch of her body, as she hobbled to her locker to get her bag and things. "But I _did_ survive a round with Hailey, so I think I might have a shot."

"Rose, I am so sorry," Aimee said, wincing again when Rose tucked her bag over her shoulder and wobbled when pain shuddered through her and made her feel dizzy, her bag having knocked against her hip. "Are you okay?"

"I'll live," Rose mumbled, _but I really don't want to right now_, she added.

"Hey, wait up; we'll carry you," Aimee said, and she and Pearl scampered up to her, locking their arms together like a seat, and they wouldn't budge until Rose had perched her bottom on their arms; they lifted her into the air and carried her like Cleopatra to the front of the school.

At the steps, they lowered her so she could climb effortlessly off their arms, and Rose smiled, a little embarrassed, but she had laughed most of the journey with Pearl staggering and giggling like mad, Aimee's backpack threatening to trip her up when it slid down her arm.

"Hey, here; these are all the girls' cell-numbers," Aimee said, handing her a slip of paper on which several phone numbers had been scrawled by their respective owners; Pearl, Ria, Jenna. She already had Aimee's. "I'll call you about the trip to the mall. If Jenna and Ria can make it, we could go tomorrow after practice."

"Yeah, that sounds cool," Rose smiled.

"The party is gonna be _so_ cool," Pearl sighed, her eyes glowing with expectation. "I heard they got that new hot DJ from _Quay Club_ to play."

"You know, Aimee, I don't think Rose is gonna be able to make the party," Hailey said; Rose glanced at the doors and saw most of the cross-country team, half the lacrosse-players, most of the football team and some swimmers had spilled out. Hailey strode up to them. "Shouldn't you be working on your stamina? We do have a meet coming up."

"My stamina is just fine, thank you," Rose said, bristling.

"Please. You were tripping over your own feet to keep up with me and Salvatore," Hailey scoffed. Rose's eyebrows flew up. "It's hard to believe you made All-State on your last team. Or did you just make that up to impress all of us?"

"She only kept tripping up because _you_ kept shoving her, Hailey," Aimee scowled.

"It's alright, Aimee," Rose said, laying a hand gently on her friend's arm. She turned to Hailey. "If you're having problems with thinking your boyfriend's a skirt-junkie, deal with it with him; don't take it out on me."

There were _Ooohs_ and gasped laughs and giggles; Hailey turned an unflattering hue of splotchy eggplant mixed with sour milk.

"Hey, Chibs; we gotta go." Evan strode up the steps, took a swift inventory of her bandages—easily seen because she was wearing her second-skin shorts and a pretty lacy camisole and leather-cuff sandals—twirling his keys around his finger. He barely glanced at Hailey.

"Go where?" Hailey asked.

"We have to pick up dinner for the family," Evan said tersely. "I can give you a ride, but you're gonna have to wait at Casa Orozco." Clearly fuming, Hailey barely managed to keep her voice level.

"Thanks anyway," she said tartly. "Aimee, I'm coming with you."

"Oh..._kay_," Aimee said, eyes wide. Hailey stalked off; Rose could practically see the heat rising from her like a cartoon character in a rage.

Aimee offered her arms for a hug; she captured Rose and hugged her tight. "I think I love you," Aimee whispered, giggling. "Nobody's ever spoken to her like that before."

"Well, I'm paying for it now," Rose grimaced, when they broke apart; the pain in her hip actually almost knocking her knees together. "I think I need a hip replacement."

"Ouch. Did she knock you down that hard?" Aimee winced in sympathy. "Well, we'll buy you some reusable ice-packs tomorrow when we're at the mall."

"And maybe a bottle of tequila to numb the pain," Rose added, and Aimee laughed.

"Alright, I'll see you tomorrow," Aimee smiled. "Take care of you."

"Take care of you," Rose said, giving Aimee another little hug, before groaning and hobbling off after Evan. She turned and tried valiantly not to wobble and fall down the stairs when she realised the pain in her hip had only worsened during her Cleopatra-style ride from the locker-rooms. Aimee scurried off after her sister; Evan stared after them stoically, still jangling his keys, then frowned down at Rose.

"What the hell happened to you?" he asked, taking inventory of her bandages. "The football team use you for tackling-practice?" He slipped into the car and jammed the keys into the ignition, cranking up the air-conditioning. Rose remembered what Finn had said about her integrating into the family.

"No," Rose sighed, cringing as she tried to lower herself into the passenger seat. "It seems I'm not too popular in the Boston area. And your girlfriend is just a _little_ bit angry."

"Hailey did all this to you!" Evan said, and his eyes flashed. "Why would she do that?" Rose shot him a look. He shifted uncomfortably.

"I overheard you arguing earlier," Rose admitted quietly, and he let out a huge sigh, before putting the automatic car in drive and pulling out of the drop-off loop. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"Not really," Evan grumbled. Rose shrugged slightly and checked on her left hip.

"Oh my _god_!" she gaped, horrified.

"What is it?" Evan asked, jumping. Rose stared down at her hip, where she had peeled her shirt and shorts away from her skin. The entire side of her hip was covered with an enormous bruise; reddish-brown, spotted with green and yellow.

"_Ouch_!" Evan cringed. "Jesus, how the hell—are you sure you're not a haemophiliac? 'Cause, Finn said you weren't…"

"How d'you know about that?" Rose asked, glancing up at Evan, smoothing her clothing over her bruise. Ouch. Evan shot her a look and grinned.

"He told me about the swooning damsel in distress moment last week," he said, his lips twitching with amusement. Rose didn't doubt that; the McGowan boys were gossipier than any cheerleader she had ever met at her old school. She'd listened to Finn and Doug chatting about a girl called Tina who'd blown one guy off to go out with his best-friend for like _twenty minutes_ the other day.

"I don't do well with blood-loss," Rose said, blushing.

"I figured that. You should see some of the guys on the football team; they're complete babies. Last year one guy broke some of his fingers during a game; he had a gurney cart him off the field, and an ambulance took him to hospital with an oxygen mask because he passed out," Evan laughed. His expression turned serious. "I can't believe Hailey did that to you."

"Well, indirectly. It was actually the enormous boulder I fell onto when she shoved me onto the ground and ran over me," Rose said, wincing when she flexed her legs, forgetting her knees were bloodied and bandaged.

"Rose, I'm so sorry," Evan winced. "I can't believe she'd take all this out on you."

"All what?" Evan sighed heavily, turning off Bernal onto Sunol Boulevard and into the plaza, driving around the parking-lot toward Jim's Diner and Casa Orozco, the Mexican restaurant where several couples were already eating an early dinner outside on the patio out front under umbrellas. Evan sighed again and turned the key in the ignition. The air-conditioning shut off, and the car was quiet.

"It's like…if I spend all my time just talking to her, she says I'm being clingy, right?" Evan frowned. "And when I talk to other girls, she says I'm an uncontrollable flirt. I just can't seem to do anything that makes her happy." Rose sighed.

"You know, I used to date a guy like you," she said quietly, and Evan glanced up. "Actually, a lot like you. And guys like you are complicated, and…and enigmatic. And usually worth it. But if you're not completely confident in who you are, it can be challenging dating someone like you."

Evan was watching her face solemnly.

"You're not as bashful when you've got something to say," he said quietly. He blinked, looked out through the windshield, and sighed, before glancing back at her. "Is that why you and that guy broke up?"

"Er—No," Rose said quietly. "We broke up because I walked in on another girl giving him head."

"Oh."

"Yeah," Rose said, sighing. "Anyway—are you gonna pick up that food or what?"

"Oh, right!" Evan laughed. "We don't want the runts to get hungry. Trust me." Five minutes later, Evan staggered back to the car with a cardboard box filled with tubs of cheesy nachos, Mexican rice and refried beans, foil-wrapped enchiladas, tacos, quesadillas, burritos, and bags of nachos; he handed one to her and they snacked on the way back to the house.

"Okay, so…so what can I do, then, to stop her feeling so insecure about us?" Evan said, rummaging in the bag in Rose's lap for another nacho chip. Rose crunched on her own and swallowed.

"Um, well…I guess…if she's getting upset about you talking to other girls, and if you see her getting annoyed about it, go over and give her a kiss or something," Rose shrugged. "I know you guys spend a lot of time screwing, but do you—"

"What? How d'you know that?" Evan blurted, blinking very fast at her, on the verge of a grin. Rose laughed softly.

"At Darnell's party, you disappeared upstairs as soon as we got there," Rose said. "And at Logan, you spent two hours in the woods with Hailey, instead of hanging out with your friends, which, by the way, is probably why you got caught sneaking into the house." Evan sighed heavily.

"Yeah, that's true I guess," he admitted. "What's your point?"

"My point is—do you ever just hang out and _talk_?" Rose asked. Evan winced. That was a no.

"We used to, you know, when we first got together," Evan shrugged. "We started dating in August last year."

"Well, when you hang out, go somewhere where you can't sneak up to a bedroom, and not with a bunch of your friends around," Rose said thoughtfully. "If you're having trouble, get in a room together and talk it out. No distractions, no insults, just talking. Figure out what each of you wants from the relationship and work on that."

"How'd you get so smart on relationships? How many boyfriends have you had?"

"Only two. Stuart-Gordon was my boyfriend when we were two," Rose said lightly. "His parents were English; they lived in Paris near us. And apparently we were going to get married. But then Stuart-Gordon developed a deep love of tea-sets and we broke up." Evan laughed, and it did Rose good to hear it; he wasn't as terse as he had been upon meeting her out front at school, which was good.

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**A.N.**: Please review!


	13. A Little Birdie

**A.N.**: Okay, I'm really craving the album _Vault; Def Leppard Greatest Hits (1980-1995) _because I keep having to listen to the songs on YouTube because iTunes is crap and doesn't sell any of their stuff, and that's all I can think about, buying it, and it's making me mad! Grrr! Anyway, this is dedicated to everyone who's reviewed so far; thank you!

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**Rose Amongst Thorns**

Chapter Thirteen

_A Little Birdie_

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After dinner, where Rose stocked up on juicy beef tacos dripping in cheese and sour cream, Mexican rice and refried beans, she finished her day's assignments for math, English and History and French, wrote an email to Pogue about cross-country practice and the injuries she had acquired and her conversation with Evan. She pasted a copy of a blue Julian Schnabel art piece in her journal and started writing about it and about her day, gluing a tiny square of her bandage to the page with the logo of the Casa Orozco napkin she had cut up, and after programming the numbers into her phone, the piece of notepaper on which Jenna, Ria and Pearl had scribbled their phone-numbers.

She got okayed by Regina to go to the mall the next afternoon with the girls, called Aimee's cell to tell her she could come, picked up _Gone With the Wind_ and started reading where she had left off. She was okay until she stood up to go to the bathroom, when her entire body screamed in protest. Every joint was bruised in some way or cut up; Hailey had given her the workout of a lifetime, but she had survived, and would survive the aftermath of it. Rose went to the bathroom and was just climbing back onto the comfy chaise when she heard the sound of Doug's voice.

"Just keep your head up, dude. Don't be afraid of the ball. You own the ball." She put her book down open on her stomach and peeked outside. Down in the yard just below her window, in the shade of the climbing tree, stood Ian and Doug. Ian had his shoulders hunched, clutching a baseball bat, his lips pressed closed in a grim line of determination. Doug stood a few yards away, holding a baseball and wearing a baseball-mitt.

"Okay, ready?" Doug asked. Ian nodded and Doug threw an arching pitch right in Ian's strike zone. Ian pulled back and let rip; Rose laughed and smacked a hand over her mouth, realising it wasn't funny that Ian had just launched the baseball right at Doug's head and hit its target.

"See?" Doug said, smiling, rubbing his skull with one hand. "You can do it!"

"You're like a little Ortiz!" Finn said; Rose glanced around and spotted his gleaming blonde hair shining as he exited the kitchen; he stuffed his hands into the pockets of his jeans and strode across the yard almost to the brook, where a largish garden shed stood mostly in the shade, one wall exposed to sunlight, with ivy and roses creeping up the sides.

Ian grinned unabashedly and Rose settled back and watched Doug with Ian for a few minutes. This was the family in their natural, unimpeded habitat. The guy in the backyard teaching his little brother how to hit wasn't being obnoxious or unkind—the reverse, actually. It seemed when Rose wasn't around, and when Doug didn't feel the need to put his guard up, he was actually an okay kind of guy. Tired out from practice, Rose couldn't read any longer without risking falling asleep. Her pain-riddled body protesting, she rose and made her way downstairs. She filled a glass with ice-water and was watching out the window in the back door when she noticed movement in the shed. Hadn't Finn left it already?

Decision instantly made, Rose opened the back-door and slipped out into the yard. She wanted to know why Finn went to the garden-shed, and why, after twenty minutes, he hadn't come out of it. She wondered what he was doing, trying to block the unsavoury image of Finn with a bunch of Playboys out of her mind. Ian and Doug both froze

"Good hitting," she said, raising her palm for Ian to smack as she strolled past, sipping her water. It was still lovely and hot outside, the gentle breeze cooling her skin and playing tenderly with her hair.

"Thanks," Ian grinned, smacking her palm.

"What? Nothing about the pitching?" Doug asked.

Rose shrugged. "It was okay." Ian laughed. She strolled down to the end of the yard, listening to the gentle gurgle of the brook, and the insects buzzing and chirping in the brush at the edges, the birds still singing in the trees, and the breeze rustling the leaves like soft sighs. She glanced over her shoulder; from here, the house looked far away, and the noise of it was rendered muffled; she knew why Finn chose this place to get away, though what he was doing inside was a mystery. She just hoped it _didn't_ involve a stack of Playboys. She didn't think she could handle that _just_ yet. She'd only been here a week.

Bracing herself, Rose walked up the step onto the tiny porch, grabbed the door-handle and tugged. Finn stood with his back to her, earphones plugged into his ears, and something told her she should just back out of the room before he noticed her, but she was too stunned to move. Finn was not, thank goodness, doing anything unsavoury. He was, in fact, holding a paint palette—which was actually a recycled cake-tin lid—and standing in front of a canvas propped up on a large easel. Around him, behind him, on the floor, propped up against the walls, stacked on the rusty old cream garden bench, set precariously behind old plant-pots on the shelves of a faded potting-bench, were dozens if not hundreds of other canvases, in all sizes and painted in every style from cubism to fauvism to neoclassical to modern to romantic to still life and abstract. There were also portraits, the paintings furthest from the walls and on the tops of the piles. They were obviously the most recent, and none of them, as far as she could tell, were finished.

She peeked around Finn's back and saw that he was working on a relatively new painting; a pair of slender arms was crossed at the bottom of the canvas, and the outline of an angular face and slender throat hovered above. There was no mistaking the subject; Kayla Bird.

She tiptoed up to Finn, mesmerised by watching him paint. Though the rest of his body kept absolutely still, his arm worked in a frenzy over the canvas, spreading with it whirls of gorgeous colours. She realised she was hovering just as Finn shifted and glanced around; he yelled and jumped about a foot in the air, stumbled and almost fell into the canvas before he checked himself, clutching his heart; his paintbrush had dropped to the floor. Rose shivered. He popped the earphones out of his ears and gasped, clutching his heart.

"_Jesus_, Rosie! Okay, my life is flashing before my eyes!" he gasped, kneading his chest with the heel of his palm. "You scared the shit outta me."

"Sorry," Rose mumbled, blushing hotly.

"That's alright," Finn said, waving a hand idly, still kneading his heart with the other. "Just—just tap me on the shoulder or something next time."

"Or you could turn the easel so you're facing the door," Rose said softly. "You never know who might sneak up on you. A pagan scarecrow god, a homicidal hook-handed reverend, a Reaper…"

"You don't happen to watch Supernatural, do you?"

"I love it—well, I mean," Rose blushed, "I can't watch it without Pogue or a comforter to hide under, but the storylines are cool."

"And you like looking at the guys?" Finn added, smiling playfully. Rose blushed.

"Yes. Perhaps, a _little_," she said softly. "I'm sorry—I'll go. I was just curious, but I see you're working, so—"

"No—stay," Finn said, smiling, as she paused on the threshold. "Sit—stay awhile." He rearranged the canvases off the garden bench and patted it. "Sit down. Take a load off. You look like you could use it." Afraid to touch anything that might still be glistening with wet paint, Rose slipped sideways past his easel and sat down on the bench, which wobbled ominously—"Whoops!" Finn reached out and grabbed her hand before the seat of the bench could collapse beneath her. "Sorry! I forgot that's still broken." He pulled her up off the bench before she could fall in through the frame.

"It's okay," Rose said quietly; she looked at his hand clamped around hers, and Pearl's voice wafted through her memory, telling her she'd thought he'd wanted to hold her hand. He released her, clearing his throat, and shuffled around the shed until he'd found a small, three-legged old stool, as paint-splattered as the floor. Rose made sure there was no wet paint on the seat and perched on the edge of it.

"So, Evan told me Hailey gave you those," Finn said, leaning against the old potting-bench, ankles crossed, arms folded loosely, eyeing her many bandages and band-aids. Rose blushed, but smiled.

"You guys are too funny," she said quietly. Finn blinked and blushed lightly.

"How so?"

"You're so _gossipy_," Rose smiled. "I've never met a more yakkity gaggle of old hens—including the old women at Bob's Giant Burger who spent half an hour telling me young ladies shouldn't wear shorts." Finn laughed.

"So, what did you do to incur the wrath of the Hun?" he asked.

"The who?"

"The Hun…Oh, yeah, you wouldn't know; um, that's Hailey's nickname. Ev and I made it up when she was still living next-door," Finn said, grinning. "You know, Attila the Hun—'cause she's so scary."

"And now she's Evan's _hon_ey," Rose smirked, and Finn laughed again. She sighed and looked around the potting shed—his makeshift studio. The portraits weren't finished, but the other paintings were, and some of them were absolutely gorgeous—like early Frances Bacon or Schnabel paintings, with a little bit of Cecily Brown and Wassily Kandinsky and Picasso thrown in. The portraits were the only ones he hadn't finished, though there were more of them.

"I know what you're thinking," Finn sighed, touching his brush to the canvas in front of him. "This guy never finishes anything."

"No… I just… Well…Why _don't _you finish them?" Rose asked curiously.

"It's so bizarre—I get these inspirations, you know, and I come here all ready to throw my vision down on the canvas, but once the rush is gone, I freeze up. It's like I get painter's block or something," Finn grumbled. Rose leaned over and picked up a half-completed painting showing the bare shoulder and neck of a girl who was half looking away from the viewer, but her hair and features had never been filled in; he _had_ painted the little birthmark on her shoulder.

"So…Kayla Bird, hm?" she smiled, showing him the portrait. He blushed.

Finn placed his brush in a cup of water and cleaned it. "How do you know Kayla?"

"I don't," Rose said softly, "but the girls were talking about you this afternoon at lunch, and they told me. You like her, don't you?" Finn turned his back to her and shoved his hands through his hair. When he faced her again, there was a streak of blue reaching up from his forehead and wilting one of his curls. Rose had to smile at it. He looked so embarrassed and anxious she almost felt sorry for him.

"I wasn't aware this was common knowledge," he said, blushing. Rose smiled.

"I don't think it is to anyone who doesn't know you," she said quietly. "But Jenna and Pearl and Ria spend most of their time ogling the 'hotness brigade' that is the McGowan family, and you notice things. You were sketching her at lunch today, weren't you—that's why you closed your notebook when she sat down at your table." He blushed hotter. Rose smiled.

"Nothing to be embarrassed about," she smiled. "Have you asked her out yet?"

"Not exactly."

"What does 'not exactly' mean? She didn't say _no_?"

"No, she didn't say no—I haven't actually asked her out," Finn said, smirking slightly.

"Well, you should," Rose said decisively. Finn stared at her, and then laughed. His smile lit up his face, and made Rose blush. "What?"

"You! You just sounded so…_authoritative_," he chuckled. Rose shrugged one shoulder. "Why d'you think I should ask her out?"

"You like her; that's a start. And life's too short, trust me," Rose said quietly. "Like—I had a crush on Garrett Norwood in my class in North Carolina—he had the most _gorgeous_ arms—he was a swimmer—and I didn't do anything about it, and now I'm here. Opportunity lost." Finn flicked his eyes over her face.

"You don't look like a girl who wouldn't take what she wanted if she wanted it bad enough," Finn said thoughtfully. "Why didn't you ask _him_ out?"

"Er, well…I saw Garrett's arms for the first time and fell in love with them, and the next day my parents had their accident," Rose said quietly, blushing hotly. Finn blinked, and then tried not to smile.

"Oh."

"Yeah. See—life's too short. I demand that you call up this Kayla Bird girl and ask her out on a date," Rose said. "One of us should be able to ask their crush out."

"Crush? Rose!"

"What? Don't guys get crushes?"

"No."

"Then what do you get? Do you have a '_thing_' for Kayla?"

The shed door opened and Doug appeared, frowning.

"What're you two doing in here?"

"Talking about Finn's thing," Rose said evenly, and her mouth twitched as she tried not to grin at the blush that coloured Finn's cheeks a dark, gorgeous red. Doug blinked.

"Okay." He disappeared. Rose glanced at Finn and smiled.

"You are the _oddest_ person," he declared, shaking his head slightly. She swung her legs childishly and smiled.

"Well, are you going to call her?" Rose asked.

"Who?"

"Kayla!"

"Oh." Finn glanced at her. "You think I should?"

"Yes. Even if it doesn't come to anything, you can't look back in ten years and wonder 'what if'," Rose said. "Where's your cell?"

"It's up in my room." Rose tutted and pulled her Motorola A630 out of her pocket.

"Here. Borrow this. D'you want a drink?"

"Er… Gatorade, please," Finn smiled shyly; Rose nodded, picked up her glass and left the shed, and walked slowly back to the house, took her time choosing the colour of the Gatorade from the multipack crate from Costco and refilling her glass of water. Finn met her in the kitchen, trying not to grin too widely.

"Success?" she asked, smiling, handing him the Gatorade bottle.

"Yup. We're going out tomorrow night," he smiled.

"You and who?" Rose jumped; Regina had just walked into the kitchen, glancing at her third-born son. Finn blushed a grin.

"Finn's got a date with Kayla Bird," Rose said, and he nudged her. She smiled.

"Oh! You do! You've had a crush on her for the longest time!" Regina said happily.

"Mom!"

"Apparently, guys don't get _crushes_," Rose said, sighing. Regina looked mildly confused.

"So what do they get?" she asked.

"They get _things_, apparently," Rose said; Regina just rolled her eyes amusedly and shook her head.

"I guess that means you'll be wanting to borrow my car," she said, glancing at her son.

"Er…Yeah, that'd be good, thanks," Finn said.

"You might wanna talk to your brother about fixing up your car if you're starting dating now," Regina said thoughtfully, pouring herself a cup of tea.

"You have a car?" Rose asked, surprised. He was always bumming rides off Evan.

"Of sorts," Finn said dryly.

"Why don't you show Rose," Regina smiled. "She knows a lot more about cars than I do."

"Mom, _anyone_ knows a lot more about cars than you do," Finn laughed. Regina only smiled. Finn glanced at Rose. "You wanna see it?"

"Sure," Rose smiled. She followed Finn out to the barn, which served as a sort of quasi-garage downstairs and guest-house upstairs. It was Sean's haunt, but he wasn't there when Finn opened the barn doors and ushered Rose inside. The dying sun flashed off the freshly-waxed side-panels of a vintage mint Harley. There was an old broken-in suite of living-room furniture and a huge drum-kit set up with amps, and on the other side of the garage, what looked like the shape of a low, long car covered in a dust-sheet.

Finn went over to it and carefully removed the dust-sheet. Rose's jaw dropped and she almost moaned with pleasure at the sight of the car. It was a vintage 1967 Chevy Impala—black, four-door, hard-top, and drop-dead _gorgeous_. It wasn't a _pretty_ car; it was a tough, masculine car that, if it pulled up next to you at a red light, you'd lock your doors.

"Oooh, Finn, where did you get it?" Rose gasped, love-struck. Her daddy would have _killed_ to own this gorgeous vintage muscle-car. He wasn't just a Harley fanatic.

"My grandpa died last Christmas," Finn said, unlocking the front door and tugging it open. "He left it to me in his will." He slung himself into the driver's seat, hands lazily holding the steering-wheel.

"Aren't you gonna start it?"

"It doesn't start. Look under the hood," Finn smiled privately; Rose lifted the hood and blinked.

"I think I've found your problem," she said softly, closing the hood again, making sure it latched. "You don't have an engine." Finn grinned from behind the windshield.

"It's spread out behind," he said, and Rose walked around the car to the worktop bench built at the back of the garage, which was spread with a dust-sheet and covered with engine parts. The door of the Impala creaked open and slammed shut heavily, and Finn sighed, his hands in his pockets, as he sidled up beside her. "Grandpa hadn't driven it for at least fifteen years, so it needs a lot of work. Sean's rebuilding the engine…or he _will_, as soon as he can find the right parts we need to replace the busted ones." Rose leaned against the trunk of the car.

"When this car is fixed up, it's gonna be a chick-magnet," she said, stroking the glossy black paintwork.

"I'm hopin'," Finn grinned playfully.

* * *

**A.N.**: Please review!


	14. Firecrackers

**A.N.**: The good stuff begins!

* * *

**Rose Amongst Thorns**

Chapter Fourteen

_Firecrackers_

* * *

Rose spent Tuesday afternoon, after cross-country practice, at the mall with Aimee, Pearl, Jenna and Ria. It was strange to hang out with girls. While she was a feminine, girly-girl, Rose was also best-friends with a guy, and had never really had many female friends. Medha had been the first and probably most significant female friend she'd ever had. So it was strange hanging out with just girls.

But it was fun. She was probably the most girly-girly of them all, and somehow that made her the connoisseur of all things feminine. She helped Aimee pick out a top that made her curvy figure absolutely drop-dead gorgeous, with a deep V-neckline and crossover waist-sash to bring out the hourglass of her figure, and helped pick out an eyeshadow for Jenna, who never wore glasses to a party, in the cosmetics department in Macy's that would accentuate the colour of her eyes. Ria, the most self-assured of Rose's new friends, didn't need any help, but she and Rose had fun picking out jewellery and trying on shoes that were too expensive to justify buying just for a casual party. Pearl decided she would indulge in a new bra and panties to go with her dress, and they all tried to see how many free samples they could get from Sephora, Cinnabon and Wetzel's, and then went for dinner at Sweet Tomatoes buffet. Rose had a huge plate of salad, a bowl of clam chowder soup, and a bowl of soft-serve from the ice-cream fountain, with caramel and chopped nuts. It reminded her so much of Pogue, who worked at Cold Stone Creamery.

"So, what're all the guys doing tonight?" Aimee asked. "I mean, since I know Evan's not out with my sister. He's grounded, right?"

"I think he is, yeah," Rose said, tucking into her plate of salads. "I don't know—the little ones will be on the Xbox, and Sean's rarely out of the garage, so he's either with his band or working on his Harley. Finn has a date."

"_Finn_ has a _date_?" Ria blurted, looking stunned. "With who?"

"Kayla Bird," Rose said, smiling.

"I thought he just liked staring at her," Ria said. "Most guys do. He got a date with _Kayla Bird_?"

"Why should he not? He's a nice guy," Rose said, flushing at Ria's indignantly disbelieving expression. "Anyway, you should see his studio; it's full of paintings he's done of her—or _tried_ to do of her. She's his muse. He can't seem to finish them though."

"He uses her for inspiration for his paintings?" Ria frowned.

"What? It's romantic," Rose said softly.

"No, it's a death-trap," Ria said, in a tone that could not be argued with. "Being the muse never works out."

"Plenty of women have been both lover and muse to famous artists, like Picasso," Aimee pointed out.

"A guy starts out in his blue phase and everything's great. But it's only a matter of time before he's all into cubism and it's some other girl's eye coming out of her forehead," Ria said, waving her fork around. "They're doomed before they even make it to his car."

"Ria, ladies, is a sceptic," Jenna said, sighing. "Not all of us have had sucky experience with guys. What was that phrase Aimee said you used, Rose?"

"What phrase?" Rose asked, taking a sip of water to wash down some ranch-and-bleu-cheese soaked croutons.

"About Evan," Jenna said, waving her fork around. "Aimee, what was it?"

"Skirt-junkie," Pearl blurted, her face lighting up, and she snickered.

"Oh, you shoulda heard Hailey in the car on the way home!" Aimee laughed.

"Was she really mad?" Rose asked, wincing.

"Don't you dare feel sorry for her!" Aimee warned. "I saw the colour of that bruise on your hip. She's got a lot to answer for." Overnight, Rose's bruise had turned from reddish brown to dark-purple and royal blue, speckled with red and green. And it hurt like a bitch. Luckily, her hip wasn't actually damaged; she'd gone to the nurse during break to check, but nothing was wrong. It was just a horrendous bruise. She had run on it this morning, before school, and during practice she and Jake had tied; he said he knew it was because almost every single limb of hers was bandaged.

"So what's this all the hype about this party, anyway?" Rose asked.

"Every year, Christian Todd has a party at his house after the first football game of the season," Aimee said. "It's the first big party of the year—well, except Darnell Wilcox's birthday party, but he only invites, like, _the_ most popular kids at school."

"I went to that," Rose said quietly, and all the girls stared at her. "Well…Evan took me along; he said Darnell wanted to meet me."

"Evan McGowan invited you to Darnell Wilcox's birthday party!" Ria gaped. "What was it _like_?"

"Er—I don't really remember some of it," Rose admitted, laughing. The girls laughed too. "It was just a great party, you know. There are at least a thousand photos on Facebook of it, though. I ended up in my panties in the pool—which _wasn't_ the first time that's ever happened at a party." The girls all laughed. "So who's Christian Todd?"

"He's the captain of the ice-hockey team," Aimee said, and swooned. "He's _gorgeous_. And his party _always_ ends with huge drama."

"Yeah, the cops busted it up last year," Pearl said, as she sat down with a bowl of ice-cream and cherry-apple cobbler. "It was so totally great."

"Pearl, you weren't even there," Ria said. "You were visiting your grandma!"

"Well, I heard it was so totally great," Pearl replied, unfazed. "Are you gonna come with us?"

"To Christian Todd's party? I dunno; maybe," Rose said. The girls all shouted her down about not going, so she laughed and said she'd talk to the guys and see if they were going too.

"But, if we're coming over to yours to get ready for the dance, you can just get a ride to the party with us when the dance gets old," Aimee smiled. "We're all going together in Jenna's car."

"Is there room for me?" Rose asked. Between them, it would make five.

"Yeah, sure," Jenna smiled good-naturedly. "Whaddaya say?"

Rose smiled shyly. Another party. And she'd barely been here two weeks. "Okay." The girls cheered, and the chatter turned to the party and how awesome it was supposedly going to be, how many kegs there would be, how big Christian Todd's swimming-pool was, and the kind of people who would be at the party; popular kids, juniors and seniors, the hottest guys on the football team and girls from the soccer team, some of the more popular artsy kids, the drama club.

* * *

"Hey! How was the mall?" Regina asked, smiling, when Rose entered the kitchen later that evening, fingers curled around a few small shopping-bags, and her keys. She had been given her own freshly-cut front-door key.

"It was great," Rose smiled. "We had fun."

"Where'd you go for dinner? The new sushi place?"

"No," Rose laughed. "Ria said if she was going to eat something that disgusting, she'd have to get something out of it, so we went to Sweet Tomatoes."

"Oh, the guys love it there," Regina laughed. "Every time we go they try and eat out the whole buffet. They nearly succeeded once. So what did you buy?"

"Oh, just some jewellery and a pair of shoes and some new underwear, and I got some free samples of makeup and perfume and stuff," Rose smiled. She hadn't thought it very grateful of her to have a big blowout only a week after Regina had spent so much money on her. "And a vest." She pulled out the cropped black vest she had found; it was sewn at the shoulders with gunmetal-silver sequins and pyramid studs; the seams were sewn with faux-pearls of varying sizes, and from the bust-line the edges were fringed with two-inch strands made of tiny clear seed-beads that glittered in the light and swung with every movement. "I thought it was cute. I might wear it on Friday."

"It _is_ cute—but aren't you going to wear a dress?" Regina asked. "That sundress we bought last week would be so cute for the party."

"I thought about it," Rose said, blushing. "But with all my Wildcat war-wounds, I think I'll be sticking with pants."

"Ah, I see," Regina chuckled. "So what're your plans for the party? Are you going with someone?" _Someone_ meant a boy. Sadly, no.

"Um, no—well," Rose blushed. "I mean; me, Aimee, Pearl, Ria and Jenna are going to hang out as a group, after the football game, you know? Jenna's boyfriend is gonna meet us there."

"So, you've been making some new friends?" Regina smiled.

"Well, I think Evan and Finn and Miller might have something to do with it," Rose blushed. Regina's eyes almost popped out of her face.

"_Miller_? What can he have to do with it?"

"Oh, apparently, girls at school think he's the silent but drop-dead gorgeous type," Rose said in a gushed half-whisper, slipping into a chair beside Regina's. Regina's mouth opened, and her eyelashes fluttered.

"_My_ Miller?"

"Uh huh," Rose grinned.

"No! Who's going after my baby?" Regina gasped, her eyes wide and gleaming with curiosity. Rose sat down at the table and they gossiped for about fifteen minutes about who thought what about which of Regina's sons at school.

"Um…I saw your car outside," Rose said, climbing out of her seat. "Is Finn back already?"

"Oh. Yeah. I think he's in the studio," Regina said quietly.

Rose felt a forbidding sense of dread. Finn and Kayla Bird, alone in the quiet, secluded shed, wrapped in darkness and moonlight and the sounds of nature falling asleep. Rose frowned and rubbed the heel of her palm against her heart, which had suddenly clenched painfully.

"With Kayla?" she asked.

"No, I don't think so," Regina said. "He came home alone, went upstairs to get his iPod, and went out into the yard."

"Oh, dear. Do you think I should go talk to him?" Rose asked quietly.

"Mm…maybe," Regina shrugged. "He's had time to cool off, whatever's wrong. It's always best to give my boys a few minutes." Rose nodded, collected her bags, almost tripped over a toy car left by the kitchen door by Caleb, and exited the house, not bothering to go upstairs and put her bags down. She reached the shed and knocked on the door tentatively, but heard Styx playing loudly on the other side of the door and let herself in. An explosion of the song reaching its climax, "_OH MAMA, I'm in fear for my life from the long arm of the law!_" blasted through her as she crossed over the threshold. The shed must have been heavily insulated, because, damn, but Finn played his music loud! She'd thought it was only Doug.

Finn, wearing his favourite pair of jeans and paint-splattered boots, stood before the portrait of Kayla Bird. Yesterday he had filled in the arms and most of the chest; today, he had filled in a lot of Kayla's wavy light-brown hair, but the slender oval face was still featureless. It was actually quite disturbing to look at, like a dreamlike Chagall painting in portrait form. There were hidden morbid qualities to the painting that made a shiver go down her spine.

No Kayla in person, though. Rose couldn't understand the impulse she'd experienced back in the kitchen, when her heart had practically ached at the thought of Finn bringing her here.

Now, she was too distracted by the sight of Finn painting half-naked in golden-amber candlelight. She hadn't noticed them yesterday, or maybe he had stored them in one of the potting-table drawers, but there were thick column candles set around the whole shed, filling it with light and flickering, romantic shadows. She suddenly wondered _why_ Finn hadn't brought Kayla here. With the rich, golden light and the way it brought even more life to Finn's paintings, she would have thought it would be the perfect way to end a date.

And he was shirtless. A pale-blue button-down short-sleeve shirt had been cast, crumpled up, on the garden bench. She had seen him shirtless before, of course; none of the McGowan boys was at all shy about showing their skin—and parts of their anatomy they should know not to show off to complete strangers—and most of the time, the older ones wandered around in their boxers before school, trying to find this t-shirt or the other shoe, and Caleb spent every afternoon naked in the paddling-pool in the backyard, cooling off from the lingering late-summer heat and having backyard-wide water fights with Ian. And Finn was in her gym class; they were still on their swimming unit, and she had noticed that Finn was surprisingly muscular for the artistic member of the family. He had gorgeous shoulder and back muscles, and his arms were surprisingly taut. She had noticed that he had really nice hands, and suddenly, watching the candlelight caress his golden skin, she wanted to skim her fingertips up and down the curve of his spine to see how warm his skin was.

Maybe he felt her eyes on him, because he glanced over his shoulder and locked his eyes on her. They glowed palest blue in the candlelight, and the flames cast shadows of his thick, curling lashes onto his cheekbones.

"Hey," she said quietly, feeling her cheeks warm.

"Hey," Finn said heavily, and gestured her inside. "You got home just in time."

"In time for what?" Rose asked warily.

"My nervous breakdown," Finn said, with a wry smile, dropping his paintbrush onto the easel's shelf. He pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes and then pushed his fingers through his hair; one curl wilted with red eggplant-purple paint. "I fixed the seat for you," he added quietly. Rose didn't understand what he meant, until he nodded at the garden-bench. He had folded a plush navy velvet Red Sox blanket onto the seat in place of a cushion, and added a little pillow.

"Oh dear," Rose said softly, setting her bags on the floor near the door, pulling it to after her; Finn turned the music—which had changed to Kiss—down. "Hang on—if you're going to have a breakdown, you need snacks. I'll be right back. Don't move!" Rose left the shed, ran back to the house, raided the pantry, and ran back to the shed. She made a spread of pistachios, mini-pretzels, marshmallows, Fruit Gushers, Goldfish, Fritos, and a bowlful of Halloween candy left over from last year on the potting bench. She handed Finn his favourite colour Gatorade, closed the door, changed the music to something more mellow and quiet, and sat down on the repaired bench, tugging the pillow into her lap to hug, patting the seat beside her.

"Okay. What's up?" she said.

"I _suck_. Did you know that you are in the presence of a person who completely and utterly sucks?" Finn said, looking utterly dejected, as he uncapped his Gatorade and took a big gulp.

"Oh dear," Rose repeated sympathetically. "Was it that bad?"

"The date? Oh, no, it was okay I _guess_," Finn shrugged, opening a tiny box of Dots candies and sharing them between them. Rose watched his shoulder muscles shift, and she fought not to lick her lips.

"So what happened?" Rose asked. "Why're you home so early?"

"Well, Kayla's a dancer, you know," Finn sighed. "She has to be up for four a.m. practices every day, and then she has practice after school, too. So she had to be back home to do her homework and get some sleep, or she'd be trashed for her morning practice tomorrow. At least, that's what she _said_."

"Well, if she's a ballerina, I'd guess that's about accurate," Rose said. She knew a gymnast who got up every day for four a.m. practices and was always travelling on weekends and had next to no social life because he was always training.

"Truth is, I think both of us couldn't wait for the date to be over," Finn grumbled.

"You didn't have a good time?" Rose asked.

"Well, we had a good time at the art gallery," Finn said. "She's really into that stuff, so I figured I'd take her to my favourite gallery, since there's an exhibition on performance photography right now. But then we went to the coffee-shop for drinks and, well, we kind of didn't have much to talk about."

"So the date wasn't what you'd hoped it would be?" Rose guessed. Finn grumbled in response, cast a glare at his painting, and offered her the bag of Fritos.

"No."

"So…what happened?" Rose asked, feeling very guilty.

"I don't know, I just felt like…" Finn sat forward and rested his elbows on his thighs; Rose saw his stomach muscles clench and her stomach did an odd flip-flop. He sat so close she could smell him; the combination of warm, just-out-of-the-dryer laundry and the tangy scent of paint. "You know how, if you don't really know someone, but you're _kind_ of friends with them, you build up this picture of who they are based on what you think you know? I kind of got it into my head that she was this quiet, soulful girl."

"Who is very good-looking."

"Yeah, okay, that might've been part of it," Finn admitted, grinning bashfully.

"So what was she, then?"

"Well, when we got to the coffee-shop, we got drinks and a dessert—"

"Don't tell me she ate _all_ the chocolate-cake!" Rose gasped in mock horror. It was worth interrupting him for the glittering white smile he gave her, and the deep chuckle that filled the shed.

"I think you know me well enough to know I'd never let _that_ happen," Finn said, grinning. "I'm not _that_ chivalrous."

"Glad to hear it," Rose smiled. "Go on."

"Okay, well, we started talking, and it was like…she'd been all over the world and seen all these fantastic things, you know, things I've never seen. And she kept asking me, have I been here, have I been there?"

"And you haven't been either here or there," Rose sighed.

"Or anywhere," Finn said, smiling wanly. "There's not a whole lot of world travelling with seven kids. It's pretty much Cape Cod and Florida."

"Did you tell Kayla that?" Rose asked.

"Yeah, I cracked a joke about it," Finn sighed, "but I could tell she was disappointed. It's like I'm some kind of leper just because I've never skied the Alps or seen the Mona Lisa."

"Overrated," Rose said, waving a hand; she offered him the bowl of marshmallows. "She's the size of a postage-stamp. Now, the Last Supper? The Birth of Venus? They're worth the cost of a transatlantic airplane ticket."

"That's right," Finn smiled. "You've been everywhere too." Then he smirked. "Maybe _you_ should date Kayla."

"I don't think she's my type," Rose chuckled softly. She flicked her eyes over Finn's face. "If you were to ask my honest opinion about this Kayla girl…I'd say I think she's a little conceited." Finn flicked his eyebrows expressively and made a little grunt, and offered her mini Charleston Chews.

"It has been my experience in life that there are some people in the world who get off thinking they're better than everyone else," Rose sighed. "So you haven't seen the Statue of David yet—we'll go after high school, and, damn it, I will _make you_ sit there and stare at his butt for twenty minutes!" Finn laughed. "And you might have to buff up a little more so we can play Gladiator in the Coliseum." He laughed again, his eyes crinkling at the corners, flashing that gorgeous smile.

"Only if we can go to Turkey and have you play harem-girl," he retorted teasingly, and it was Rose's turn to laugh. She lightly slapped his arm, and was surprised by how firm it was. There was not an ounce of fat on the boy. Warmth spread through her fingers where she touched him, and for a second, Finn's eyes were on her hand. She took it back and had to stop clenching her fingers at the strange sensation that flooded through them, by plunging her hand into the bowl of candy and retrieving a piece of saltwater taffy.

She cleared her throat and smiled, her cheeks lovely and warm. "My point is…Kayla didn't appreciate that you two have both had different life experiences. I'll bet her family doesn't sit watching the game together every week—well, almost every week; I still want to talk to you all about segregating Miller—but just because you guys do that rather than, I don't know, bungee-jumping Niagara Falls, doesn't make you any less interesting than her. Did you understand any of that?"

"You want us to stop making Miller watch the Yankees games in the basement and you think Kayla's a snob for not appreciating the differences between our family circumstances," Finn said, his expression thoughtful. "That right?"

"Well, I didn't call her a snob, but yes," Rose said, cracking some pistachio shells. "So…what happens now, with your portraits?" Finn glanced at the easel, and the canvas propped up glistening against it.

"Well, I thought after tonight, you know, if I went out with her that I would be inspired and I might actually _finish_ this one, but…" Finn threw up a hand toward the painting and gave it a dark look. "I got nothing. Maybe I just need to work on something different."

"I like these ones," Rose said, unfolding from the bench and plucking her favourite paintings from the many stacks of canvases scattered about the room. They were the ones that reminded her the most of Schnabel and Cecily Brown paintings, so full of emotion and colour and sensuality and enigma.

For the rest of the night, until Finn's iPod ran out of battery and they ran out of snacks, Rose and Finn talked of everything and anything; art, travel, school, crushes, their friends, the dance on Friday and the party at Christian Todd's house, music, movies, finding a decent mechanic, books and hated teachers, nemeses at school and who was the best Guitar Hero player—an argument they agreed to settle tomorrow after school on the Wii. Finn looked through her shopping-bags and went through her purse, looking into the life of the average teenage girl through what he found, teased her about the black 'Lacey' thong he found in the little striped Victoria's Secret bag, wrinkled his nose at the perfume samples she had been given, painted two of his fingernails to see what colour her 'Catch Me In Your Net' and 'Bastille My Heart' _O.P.I._ nail-polishes were like, made her try on her new jewellery to see what it looked like (she refused to show him what her _thong_ looked like on) and told her he liked her in the embellished vest.

"You look like the rock-chick you are," he said, tilting his head to one side as Rose turned in the vest.

"What do you mean, a rock-chick?" Rose laughed softly, cheeks heating up.

"Well, you listen to classic rock, you ride the back of your best-friend's motorcycle, you know about _cars_, but you wear floral dresses and mini-shorts," Finn said, grinning subtly. "You don't _look_ like what you are underneath."

"How d'you mean?"

"Well…like…I expected you to listen to R&B and pop because you wear pretty clothes," Finn said. "It's just surprising that you'd even _know_ Deep Purple."

"I like rock," Rose said, shrugging, "and I like looking pretty."

"Yeah. You always look pretty," Finn said thoughtfully, intense eyes roving over her face. "But you don't dress the way a girl who listens to classic rock usually dresses."

"I like looking pretty," Rose repeated, shrugging, and Finn smiled again. "And I don't _just_ listen to rock, you know."

"I _know_," Finn sighed, shaking his head. "You have _Taylor Swift_ on your iPod."

"Hey! Don't insult her! Insult Miley Cyrus, but not Taylor Swift," Rose warned playfully. Finn's eyes widened and he nodded in agreement.

"But, you know, in _that _vest, you look like you could be some biker's old lady," he said, grinning. "I don't know—throw on some leathers, you'd fit the kind of music you listen to."

"You just wanna see me in my leathers. And what about you?" Rose smiled, and Finn raised his eyebrows. "_You_ listen to rock, but you're friends with artists who listen to indie and emo." Finn just chuckled; Rose stuck out her tongue, and he laughed.

Finn gifted her the painting Rose had loved above all the others; it swirled with colour and sex, reminding her of a Cecily Brown, but gorgeous and exhilarating in its own right, in mouth-watering teals, dark gold, coppers and purples, with two young lovers and a tiny splash of red that marked the girl's lipstick. The painting moved; the lovers came to life, thrusting and writhing together, completely alone and yet totally surrounded by the captive audience of a burning sunset; that's what she saw, anyway. Rose couldn't stop staring at it.

Finn couldn't believe she thought it good enough to even hang up on a bedroom wall.

"What are you talking about?" Rose said indignantly. "Finn, you could put all these in a gallery and sell them for hundreds of dollars apiece—if not more!"

"You're taking the piss now," he said, flushing.

"I'm not! My mom was an art enthusiast, you know," Rose said passionately. "She would search hundreds of galleries for someone with this amount of talent—galleries filled with professional artists' work. _Professionals_! You're not even a senior in high school and already you have this level of skill. Finn, you're talented." She took his hand and squeezed it subtly. Finn blushed and shook his head, but didn't look like he could respond. Rose turned back to the painting, watching the candlelight make love to it as the couple within it made love to each other. The colours were so gorgeous and mouth-watering, and the way Finn had painted it with smears and speckles and blurred lines and indefinite objects made it swirl and writhe. She couldn't stop staring at it.

When she finally managed to wrench her eyes away, she noticed Finn was staring at her. His eyes were wide and soft, intense, glowing in the candlelight, and he was biting his lower lip thoughtfully, one of the corner dimples of his lips winking.

Then, something strange happened. The air around them started crackling, and heat enveloped her and Rose's breath came quick and shallow, and she could not for the life of her look away from those glowing grey-blue eyes, with their luxuriously thick curling lashes. The way he was looking at her, it was like…like he was seeing through her skin, right into her very soul and her heart, and when somehow their lips were pressed together with the lightest, most delicious pressure, everything went _right_ again. Her heart, which she hadn't known was clenched painfully with loneliness and longing, eased and swelled; she inhaled his warm, tangy scent and sighed softly as his tongue laced against her lower-lip; she gave him entry as his fingers slid through the locks of her hair, and down her throat to her shoulders, his thumbs stroking the column of her throat and her collarbones, and he leaned back into the bench and gently held her to his chest; Rose's fingers skimmed over his hot, soft skin, feeling the ripple of muscle tone beneath whenever he moved, pressing her hands to his chest and then taking them lower, to his waist, trailing her fingers along the V of his hipbones, up to run her fingers through his hair, to trace the curve of his cheek and his jaw, the slope of his straight nose, reaching up to take one of his hands, entwining their fingers. Their lower bodies cradled together snugly, Rose's leg curled over his hip, one of his legs pressed between hers, she propped herself up on her palms and Finn kept giving her those sensitive, sweet kisses, and kisses that took her breath away, kisses that made her feel like she was the only girl in the whole universe, and he was the only boy. His fingers skimmed under the hem of her t-shirt and left fiery brands where they touched her skin, crackling electricity surging through her body.

His fingertips paused over her scar, and their kiss lost some of its momentum when she stiffened. 'Forever Young' by Alphaville was playing softly, and the flickering candlelight made Finn look so beautiful. Propped up on her palms, her lower body pressed against Finn's, Rose licked her lips and gazed down at him. She had no idea kissing could feel like that. She had been kissed before—she loved kisses—but she had never…felt like _this_. As if leaving this shed without another might kill her.

"That was…" she whispered, realising she was panting, and trembling ever so slightly. Those fingers were wicked brands spreading fire through her skin, as he caressed his fingertips over her scar as if he wasn't repulsed by the smooth, raised skin. A shiver went up and down her spine.

"Yeah," Finn whispered, leaning up to graze his lips ever so softly against hers, curling a hand around her neck to draw her head closer.

Rose had the life frightened out of her and Finn blurted a cry of surprise when his iPod started playing Def Leppard at top volume. They looked at each other and laughed. Finn hooked his arm around her neck and drew her in for a hug as the giggled, then released her. Rose—unwillingly—clambered off his lap and went to the iDock, turned the music down and glanced over her shoulder at Finn. He had pulled his short-sleeved shirt on but hadn't done the buttons up, and sat with his elbows on his knees, his head tilted thoughtfully as he looked her up and down covetously.

"I've never seen your scar," he said quietly, and Rose flushed and looked away.

"It's ugly," she mumbled, and heard Finn stand and cross the tiny expanse of the shed; before she knew what he was doing, he had lifted the back of her top, revealing her lower-back and the jagged scar that crossed it. And then her eyes widened, because as he held her waist in his hands, he was kneeling down behind her and gently pressing his lips along the jagged, raised scar that marked where Rose's spine could have been almost severed during a motorcycle accident. He even kissed the two little dimples at her lower-back, which she was quite fond of. It was the strangest sensation, having her scar kissed; her body couldn't help reacting to those kisses, or the tongue that darted out almost imperceptibly to lick it.

And then she was engulfed in his taut arms, the scent of warmth and paint enveloping her, Finn's head nestled on her shoulder.

"You still think it's ugly?" he whispered. Rose smiled and glanced at him, taking in his profile, his curling lashes, his straight nose, and his lips even plumper than usual from kissing. Something made her heart do an odd pitter-patter beat against her chest and she had to remind herself to breathe when he caught her eye and smiled.

"Now…not as much," she admitted. He gave her a squeeze.

"Good," he murmured. For a little while, they just stood, his hands on her, his arms enfolding her, until the chorus of crickets grew loud and moonlight spilled into the shed, splashing the paint-speckled floor with silver.

"I think I should go in now," she whispered. Finn made a strangled sort of moan.

"Alright," he acquiesced, sounding begrudging. Rose smiled to herself. He didn't sound like he wanted her to leave any more than she wanted to…which was dangerous. Gently, she broke away from him, collected her things, the empty chip packets and candy wrappers, empty Gatorade bottles, and glanced over her shoulder at Finn, who was frowning at his half-finished portrait of Kayla Bird.

"Aren't you coming?" Rose asked quietly.

Finn smiled easily. "You go ahead. I'm gonna stay out here for a little longer. I have some stuff I have to do here," he said. Rose glanced at the painting. Of Kayla Bird. She didn't understand why it hurt her chest to think that, after kissing her, Finn would go back and finish painting Kayla.

"Okay," she said quietly. She reached a hand up and trailed her fingertips across Finn's cheek. "Goodnight."

He smiled, and that smile was balm to the recent wound that had hurt her, thinking he was still thinking about Kayla Bird. She smiled back and left the shed. The golden candlelight spilled onto the lawn and she drew the door to, looking up; the moon was almost full, and glowing brighter than she'd ever remembered it. Stars glittered beautifully, and for a split second she wanted to change direction, go back to the shed, grab Finn and watch the stars with him. But glancing at her illuminated cell-phone screen, she saw that it was past midnight; the twins' bedroom was still illuminated through the blinds and curtains, and someone had left the lighting under the cupboards on in the kitchen; she let herself into the house, remembered _not_ to lock the door so that Finn could get back inside, tiptoed upstairs, and fell asleep, thinking of Finn, and his lips.

* * *

**A.N.**: Well, Tori, I expect reviews! :D


	15. The Morning After

**A.N.**: Patience, Tori, patience; the time will come! :P Hehe! I'm just now figuring out when and how everything goes down at the party and afterwards! (You know, Christian Todd's party—but with a twist, since Kayla Bird isn't in the picture! I'm seeing visions of Finn dancing like a slut to Def Leppard—consequently the band my ex-housemate's boyfriend dances like a complete whore to when he's drunk!)

* * *

**Rose Amongst Thorns**

Chapter Fifteen

_The Morning After_

* * *

Rose understood why Regina and John had implemented the 'hands off Rose' rule last Thursday at the family meeting. When she slipped out of her bedroom the next morning to shower, Finn's door burst open when she was halfway across the hallway when he appeared, heavy-eyed and tousle-haired, half-naked, his boxers tented. Rose stilled, flicked her eyes over him, and felt herself blushing.

"Hey," he rumbled sleepily.

"Good morning," she managed to say, keeping her tone light and teasing. Those gorgeous lips had been on hers last night. They had spent _hours_ talking in his studio-shed, and then they had _kissed_. He had even kissed her scar, the one part of her body that she was embarrassed about people seeing because it was so horrible. He had made it feel beautiful to her, as if it wasn't something she should be embarrassed about or cover up.

Finn yawned widely, covering his mouth with his hand.

"What time did you get in from the studio last night?" Rose asked curiously. She had stayed up till almost one o'clock reading, and thinking, and hadn't heard him come in.

"Almost two," Finn said, yawning again. "Shouldn't've. You going in the shower?"

"Yeah. I'll leave some cold water for you," Rose said quietly, flicking her eyes to his boxers again and smiling; Finn blushed, and she locked the bathroom door behind her, climbed into the shower, and laughed to herself at the look on his face.

But she had realised why Regina and John were worried about any of their sons showing an interest in her—well, she couldn't know _exactly_ what their concerns were, but she knew at least a little part of it was that they didn't want things to be awkward.

It was strangely surreal to be showering in the same house as the boy who had kissed her lived in, without her having slept in his bed, with him. But unlike those very few times when she had done the walk of shame back home (after nude kissing; she had never had sex and wasn't ashamed or embarrassed to admit it) which she could count on one hand with fingers to spare, she didn't feel the rush of panic and flaming blushes of humiliation. She felt…oddly _calm_. Her heart-rate was on overdrive, and her body felt strangely sensitive to the feel of the water splashing onto her skin and the heat of it, the coolness of the glass shower-door, the rough grips of the bath-mat at her feet, the frothy creaminess of her shampoo, but _she_ felt calm. She finished washing her hair with her favourite conditioner, used her facial cleanser, shaved and shut off the water.

She wrapped herself in a towel, collected her pyjamas, and slipped out of the bathroom. Finn and Doug were fighting over who would get the shower next, wrestling on the hallway floor in their boxers, and seeing the open bathroom door, Evan hopped over his brothers, slammed the bathroom door and locked it before his brothers could shout in indignation and start pounding on the door for him to hurry up. This was a daily occurrence, so Rose wasn't worried about the bathroom door being hammered down.

In her bedroom, she did her daily routine with Body Butter lotion, face SPF-cream, and checked to see if any of her multiple injuries needed re-bandaging. They had begun to heal overnight when she'd taken the bandages off and let them get some air while she slept, so they didn't need band-aids or anything, but the bruise on her hip was now the colour of a murdered eggplant.

She picked out the softest black cotton t-shirt she owned, which was quite flimsy, nearly see-through, and woven with a speckled, almost safari-like pattern that wasn't noticeable unless the fabric was held in front of a light, with a pair of _J Brand_ dark-wash flare jeans that sat snugly, low on her hips, tugged on black lace-waist bikini panties and her favourite black lace 'Love' _Agent Provocateur_ bra, and did her makeup, with subtle smoky eyeshadow and a lashing of mascara and some glistening iridescent pink lip-gloss, and blow-dried her hair. She made a casual, messy side-parting, secured a headband of braided black and gold leather straps behind her ears and worked her hair back into a messy but elegant bun at the base of her neck over the ends of the headband, securing it with invisible pins. She put her favourite jewellery on; _Hermés_ watch, gold hoop earrings, _Dogeared_ 'Karma' bracelets and her _Benjamin_ sunglasses. She made sure she had everything for school and made her way downstairs, grabbing a baggie of Cheez-Its and a carton of grape Juicy-Juice, refilled her water-bottle, and sat down to breakfast, making sure Caleb didn't spill milk all over the table like he had yesterday whilst trying to pour it onto his cereal, and refilling the coffee-machine for the others. She still didn't drink coffee, though she liked the smell.

"Good morning, Rosie," Regina said, striding into the kitchen. Rosalie glanced up from her bowl of Cap'n Crunch and smiled.

"Morning."

"What time did you get to bed last night?" Regina asked. "I didn't hear you get in from the studio."

"Quite late," Rose said quietly, begging the blood cells in her cheeks not to flood. "We had a good talk."

"You find out what happened on his date?" Regina asked.

"We dissected it, yes," Rose said, smiling.

"Oh, that's too bad," Regina sighed, shaking her head. "Was it that bad?"

"I think Finn had an okay time; it was an important day for him, learning that the girl he thought he liked wasn't who he thought she was, if that makes any sense," Rose said, frowning at her own phrasing.

"He was a little disappointed," Regina nodded. "Oh, well, I'm sure there are other girls just _waiting_ to throw themselves at Finn. He's such a sweet boy."

"He is," Rose smiled, even as her stomach did an odd flip-flop, making her Cap'n Crunch churn. Had she 'thrown herself' at Finn last night? She frowned; no. They had just sort of…_kissed_. She didn't know how or why it had started; one minute they she was staring at one of Finn's paintings, the next she was lying with her thighs cradling his knee and her hands skimming over his bare chest, his fingers tangled in her hair.

"So, how did you like his studio?" Regina asked, smiling. "He never lets anyone in there, you know?"

"Really?"

"Mm. Never shows us his paintings, either," Regina said, shaking her head. "The only time I've seen his work is when he's had an exhibition at school."

"I think he's our art teacher's favourite," Rose said. "He's very talented. My mom would _love_ some of the paintings he's done." She said it so casually, and for a second she had forgotten…would have _loved_…

"Well," Regina sighed, glancing at Rose with that look she knew so well, the 'is she going to break?' look, "if that's true, I'm just glad all that money we're spending on paints and canvasses is paying off. If he gets that scholarship to RISD like he wants, it'll all be worth it, even though he probably wouldn't show us his work even _then_."

"I think he just needs someone to tell him his stuff is actually _good_," Rose said thoughtfully. "He didn't seem all that confident about his paintings."

"He doesn't really know how to blow his own horn," Regina chuckled, eyes twinkling at Rose. "Well, I'm glad you two are becoming friends." Rose smiled, nodding, and turned back to her cereal. _Oh GOD_. If she had been a more verbal person she might have started jabbering hysterically.

She waited for the boys to breakfast and get ready, playing Go Fish with Caleb at the island while he waited for Ian so they could walk to the bus-stop, and so Ian could walk him to the door of his first-grade elementary school class. When Evan had finished doing his hair in front of the hallway mirror, it was a free-for-all to get snacks and remember lunch money and homework assignments, and then they were all climbing into Evan's Saab—Rose looked wistfully through the window at her truck, standing there all old and lonely by the barn—but Evan's morning driving routine meant lack of concern about the speed-limit so they could go to the donut shop in the Sunol Boulevard plaza for a big bag of fresh donut-holes, and didn't allow for Rose to feel too sorry for her truck for long.

* * *

Rose was not a particularly anxious type of girl. She wasn't usually so concerned with thinking that people kept staring at her and whispering. And they were for the most part _girls_. She could feel them staring at the back of her head when she walked past, and when she caught their eyes they dropped theirs and started whispering to their friends. Rose checked her outfit. Her top was a _little_ see-through, but not enough so that the admin staff would make her change into her gym shirt. She wasn't wearing her jeans the wrong way round, and no one could see her injuries today. As she approached her locker during break, Rose felt certain more eyes were on her, more whispers following her, and wondered if there was something on her face or in her teeth. No. She checked in her little mirror from her little cosmetics bag. Nothing was wrong—so why was everyone looking at her?

Unless living with the McGowans had given her an anxiety complex—or they'd somehow found out she'd been lying in Finn's lap last night kissing him in candlelight barely four hours after he'd dropped his date at home. She worked on her combination for her locker.

"Hey," Aimee said, walking over. She looked tired as she leaned back against the wall next to Rose's locker; Aimee sucked at reading and they'd both been given huge reading assignments in History due today, so she'd probably crammed after getting home from the mall.

"Hey," Rose said quietly, taking out her swimsuit and beach-towel for gym next period. "Can I ask you something?"

"Sure," Aimee smiled.

"Am I going stir-crazy or do people keep looking at me and whispering?" Rose asked, her cheeks flushing. Aimee chortled a little laugh.

"Oh. Yeah—er, you're kinda our new celebrity," she chuckled, smirking amusedly. Rose blinked.

"What?"

"It's kind of gotten round that you sparred with Hailey yesterday after practice and survived," Aimee grinned. "Everyone's talking about the new girl who put Hailey Farmer in her place."

"Oh," Rose groaned. "Really?"

"Yup," Aimee laughed. "So what did you do after you got home from the mall last night? I had to cram in all that reading for History."

"Actually, I'd already finished that—I went to hang out with Finn in his studio," Rose said. Aimee looked impressed. "Oh—and I asked Regina about you guys coming over Friday afternoon; it's no trouble."

"Oh, great!" Aimee grinned. "I'm sorry about Pearl kinda pinning it on you like that yesterday at dinner. She gets like that sometimes; she refuses to be signed up for obedience training." Rose laughed.

"It's okay," she smiled. "To be honest, I think Regina will love having _girls_ in the house just as much as Ria and Pearl will love seeing the guys in their natural habitat."

"You make it sound like it's a jungle," Aimee laughed.

"You've never been over their house, have you?" Rose guessed, and Aimee laughed again and shook her head. "Well, I'll give you some warnings…" She and Aimee talked for the rest of break, and when Ria, Jenna and Pearl showed up, Rose and Pearl made their way to the pool locker-rooms for swimming.

"This unit seriously messes with my hair," Pearl pouted, flicking a brush through her water-slick blonde hair. They'd just left the showers; Rose still had her swim-cap on, and snapped it off as soon as she'd towelled herself dry and slipped into her underwear.

"Tell me about it," Rose said, wrinkling her nose as she smoothed her hands over her hair; she pulled out her mini travel hair-dryer and turned it on, drying the locks of hair framing her face and at her neck that hadn't been kept completely dry by the swimming-cap, and then handed it to Pearl to borrow. They were late to Art, but Miss Willow didn't mind; she shot them a grin and waved a hand airily at their usual table, which was empty and waiting for them. Rose opened her sketchbook and started drawing the first thing that came into her mind.

Finn.

Finn lying on the garden bench, shirtless and bathed in candlelight. Her stomach turned to something molten and temperamental and sensitive. She was so ensconced with her sketch that she didn't hear the bell, and Pearl had already disappeared by the time she had packed up her stuff and made another apology to Miss Willow for being late. But she had a plan, anyway; she wouldn't be sitting with the girls today.

* * *

She waited by the doors to the cafeteria, and spotted the now-familiar blonde crew-cut and the clean Abercrombie polo-tops Miller preferred; today's was teal-blue, and she knew if she could just get him to look up, the colour would make his eyes pop like Fourth of July fireworks.

"Hi Miller," she said, pushing herself away from the wall as soon as she saw him. Dozens of students streamed by her on their way in to the cafeteria, and they all had to dodge Miller, who stopped suddenly in the centre of the doorway. "The Yankees aren't playing today, are they?"

"No, it's a travel day," Miller said.

"Okay, good. Well… I was thinking, maybe we could sit inside for lunch," Rose said hopefully. She just hoped he was ready for this. "It looks like it might rain, anyway."

She hadn't realised she'd held her breath until Miller set his jaw and nodded. "It looks like it might rain, anyway," he repeated.

"Cool," Rose smiled. Then he started walking, chin lifted, his expression almost defiant. He got to the very first table, pulled out a chair, and sat, hugging his bag in his lap. This was a lot of progress he was making in one great leap, and she hoped he didn't get freaked out by it—but she was unaccountably proud of him. She'd barely known him more than a week, but of all of the McGowan boys, she might like Miller the best. Perhaps because, despite his handicap, he was the most willing of the brothers to get to know her—or at least, she'd thought so, until Finn had coerced her into jumping into the deep-end of the McGowan family pool.

She put her backpack down on the chair across from his.

"Do you want me to get your lunch?" she asked. He looked like he was barely holding it together as it was.

"Yes, please," he said, glancing up at her. She'd been right; the teal colour of his polo did make his eyes pop with the most searing intensity. Her knees almost knocked together in a swoon at the sight of them. Aimee was not going to know what _hit her_ if she ever saw Miller's eyes when he was wearing that shirt. "Hamburger, Coke with no ice, chocolate chip cookie."

Rose smiled. "Alright. I'll be right back. Don't be nervous, Miller—you're doing great." His lips twitched in a tiny smile. She darted off and made her way through the lunch-line. The day's special was taco-salad. Rose _loved_ Mexican food. Casa Orozco was now her favourite restaurant, bypassing Bob's Giant Burger in Raleigh with their eight-inch swirled frozen yoghurt cones. She pulled a taco shell onto a plate, filled it with refried beans, Mexican rice, peppers, jalapenos, taco-seasoned beef, guacamole, salsa, shredded lettuce, sour cream and shredded cheddar-cheese. She picked out a cup of fresh fruit-salad, a natural Greek yoghurt, a sachet of honey, a bottle of cloudy lemonade, grabbed Miller's hamburger, Coke with no ice and chocolate-chip cookie, paid the woman with the fluorescent talons (she'd had them repainted, an acidic green colour) and made her way back to the table Miller had claimed for them.

She placed the tray down and let Miller take his food, rearranging everything the way he liked it, then looked at his meal and sighed.

"It's nice inside, isn't it," Rose said thoughtfully, settling into her seat and arranging her own meal, unwrapping her spork and napkin.

"It's loud."

"Not near _half_ as loud as you crank up that old radio of yours," Rose teased.

Miller smiled. Slowly, he removed his backpack from his lap and placed it on the chair to his right, just as Rose had done on her side of the table. He picked up his burger and took a small bite. Soon his smile widened to a grin. Rose was knocked breathless by it. She started on her taco salad.

"I knew you could do this if you set your mind to it," Rose said, warm with affection for Miller. Even when the brothers had conspired against her with a house-wide freeze-out, she had still liked Miller. Couldn't help it; she had a soft spot for him. Maybe because he was so sincere when they talked. "My daddy used to say we can do anything we set our minds to."

"Did you know that the Yankees used to be called the New York Highlanders? What was he like?" Miller asked.

"What was who like?"

"Your dad?" Rose hadn't really talked to anyone about her parents since the accident. She was still trying to wrap her head around it, what she had seen, the police and Lori and James Alexander with her, Pogue hugging her though she hadn't realised why, too stunned. But she made the effort for Miller.

She told him about her dad, how he loved basketball and how they'd always watch Tar Heels games together and how he'd loved Harleys and had taught her to play soccer and baseball and how to tune an engine and build a motorcycle from scratch and take her downtown on a Sunday morning so she could see all the other vintage mint Harleys and Indians belonging to motorcycle-club members impressed by her knowledge of motorcycle-engines, standing outside the coffee shop. She told Miller about the first time she had ever been asked out on a date, and what had happened when the guy had showed up at the house to get her, how her daddy had threatened the kid that "whatever you do to my daughter, I do to you," and how she hadn't even gotten a goodnight kiss on the cheek from her date. She told Miller about the time her dad had taught her how to use a grill and forgotten the rack of ribs was barbecuing, only to find it on fire when they opened the lid and a huge burst of flames erupted.

They continued their fact-question game, until someone sighed and slung themselves into the seat next to Rose. Miller blinked, and turned to his burger. Rose glanced up and saw it was Evan.

"Oh. Hey," she said, uncapping her cloudy lemonade.

"Hey. I didn't know it was taco-salad day," Evan frowned at her half-eaten lunch. God, but taco salad was _good_.

"What's up?" Rose asked, a little irritated that Miller had clammed up at his brother's arrival. They were having a really good conversation—their best yet. Miller had been telling her all the things he loved about his mom, who was irrefutably his favourite member of the family.

"I just thought I'd come say hey. Hi, Mills," Evan said. Miller nodded, taking a bite of his burger.

"Looks like you've made a new friend, huh, Miller," Evan continued cheerfully. Miller nodded and took another bite of his burger. Rose suddenly really wanted Evan to leave. She wanted _her_ Miller back, the one who was engaging and hopelessly endearing with his sincerity and straightforward way of thinking. "Rose is pretty cool, isn't she?"

"Rose misses her dad," Miller said. Evan blinked; he looked stunned. At the McGowans', Rose had rarely heard Miller talk of anything but baseball. In fact, the only time she'd ever heard him talk about anything else was during their games. And Evan was screwing with Miller's new mojo.

"I'm sure she does," Evan said solemnly, after digesting what Miller had said. Miller returned to his burger.

"So, why're you really over here?" Rose asked, catching sight of Hailey's spanked-ass face from across the cafeteria. "Have you talked to Hailey?"

"Oh, you know, she's, uh, being a bit unforgiving today," Evan said, reaching over, taking her spork and helping himself to her taco salad. Rose frowned and took the spork back when he'd finished.

"Why's that?"

"Well, everyone's talking about how you told her I'm a skirt-junkie and she should just deal," Evan laughed. Rose's cheeks flushed.

"Oh…I didn't mean it like that," she said hastily. "And I said if she _thinks_ you're a skirt-junkie, she should deal with it with you. She'd just spent ninety minutes shoving me onto the ground."

"So you were a little bit ticked off," Evan said, smiling slightly. Rose flushed.

"Yeah," she said shamefully. "I really didn't mean anything by it."

"Stop apologising! I know that," Evan grinned, chuckling. "God, you're probably the most mild-mannered person I've ever met."

"So, you two haven't talked?" Rose asked.

"Well, I'm grounded. I have no cell-phone or MSN or even Facebook use," Evan sighed. "And she won't talk to me here, so that'd be a no. I can't believe my parents—a week's grounding, and a _curfew_ just 'cause I snuck into the house through your window. Sorry about that box, by the way. I didn't damage any of the books, did I?"

"No, you didn't," Rose said. "Why don't you see if Hailey will come over to the house and talk? Your parents didn't say you couldn't have her over, did they?"

"Actually, no they didn't," Evan said slowly. "Good idea. Thanks, Chibs." He grinned, slipped an arm around her shoulders in a brief hug, and darted back to his table after a quick "Bye!" to his brother.

"He stole some of my taco-salad," Rose said, turning back to Miller, who smiled shyly. "Can you believe that—after I _slaved_ away building it up, he just comes over and helps himself!" Miller was finished with his burger and onto his cookie and soda. While Rose finished her taco-salad, and then her fruit-cup and yoghurt with honey, they got back into the swing of their fact-question conversation, until the tense set of Miller's shoulders had relaxed and he looked _happy_ about being in the cafeteria, surrounded by strangers. And Rose had done that. She'd put that smile on his face. She'd helped him see he _could_ do the things nobody had ever encouraged him to try before. She felt another great swell of pride for Miller, and went to English and Math almost giddy with delight at their success.

* * *

**A.N.**: Please review. I just love Miller. He's just so cute in the book. I just want to give him huge kisses and have him teach me about baseball (I was a softball girl for three years, but I could never sit watching a baseball game on TV; I just don't see the point).


	16. Gumdrops

**A.N.**: Okay, I got stuck with how to start the Friday-night chapter, so I've changed it so that, instead of a dance, there's the first varsity football game of the year, _then_ the party. Oh—to _jamac1209_, I tried to find you on but couldn't—to answer your question, Pogue and Rose have been friends since they were kids, so they were always splashing about nude in the paddling-pool, and grew up next to each other so nudity wasn't an issue for them so it was natural.

* * *

**Rose Amongst Thorns**

Chapter Sixteen

_Gumdrops_

* * *

"So, she's meeting us at your house?" Rose asked, ambling over to the passenger side of Evan's car; he tugged the door open for her and took her bag so she could lower herself slowly into the seat. Her right shin was covered with a sticky bandage after today's cross-country training session. Evan handed over her purse and the plastic bag in which she kept her wet swimsuit and beach towel, which she would put straight in the dryer with Finn's swim stuff as soon as she got home.

"Yeah. She drove to school today, so she has to take care of her car," Evan said, when he had climbed into the driver's seat. "How'd you injure yourself today?"

"My shin," Rose grimaced. She would _definitely_ be wearing pants to the dance and party on Friday. Her knees had barely begun to heal and already Hailey had decided to maim her further for the sheer audacity of talking to one of the boys she _lived with_ during lunch-hour. She hadn't been able to catch up with Rose to inflict any major damage, just this one grazed shin. "It'll be alright; it's just a graze."

"How's your hip today?" Evan asked.

"Better, but still the most disgusting colour," Rose said.

"So you and Miller eat lunch together every day?" Evan asked, glancing at her as he pulled out of the school drop-off loop.

"I didn't yesterday," Rose said, shrugging. "But I like it when I do sit with him."

"It's pretty cool, you know, you sitting with him," Evan said. "He doesn't sit inside if he doesn't have to."

"Why don't you guys sit with him?" Rose replied.

"You know how it is," Evan said, shrugging.

"No, not really," Rose said, eyes fixed on Evan's. He shrugged slightly again. She guessed it was an I-can't-sit-with-my-little-brother-at-school thing.

"Oh!" Evan started squirming in his seat, and dug his hand into his jeans pocket, withdrawing a cell-phone. "Hey, can you answer this—and if it's Hailey, don't let her be mean to you." Rose took the cell-phone nervously and glanced at the screen.

"It's your mom," she said, flipping the phone open. "Regina? Hi, it's Rose."

"_Hey, Rose, are you and Evan on your way home?_" Regina asked.

"Yeah, we just left school," Rose said. "What's up?" Regina sounded worried.

"_Caleb got held back at school today_," she said anxiously.

"Caleb got _detention_?" Rose blurted. "I thought first-graders couldn't _get_ detention!"

"What's going on with Caleb?" Evan asked, surprised.

"_Well, he's a McGowan_," Regina said dryly."_Can you ask Evan to go pick up Caleb from school?_" Rose relayed the message, and Evan took a right turn off Bernal past the middle school Ian attended as a sixth-grader, to the elementary school that spread beside it. "_He'll be in classroom B-31_."

"Okay, we're just pulling up now," Rose said. "We'll see you at home."

"_Oh—there was one more thing—I left a chicken out for dinner, and I might be a little late home, so I left Sean in charge of the cooking, but can you just check on him and make sure he's not just shoved the whole thing in the oven?_" Regina asked. Rose laughed.

"I'll take care of dinner," she promised. "See you later."

"_Bye Rosie, thank you,_" Regina said, and they hung up.

"D'you want me to go grab Caleb?" Rose asked, when Evan pulled up in the drop-off loop outside Caleb's nice-looking elementary school.

"Yeah, okay," Evan shrugged; Rose grabbed her bag and hopped out of the car, and followed the three disparaging-looking parents to classroom B-31, and waited. The classroom door opened and the few misbehaving students, who ranged in age from ten to five, made a mad dash for freedom.

Caleb was the last to shuffle dejectedly out of the classroom.

"_Caleb_! Oh my god, what happened?" Disregarding the pain, Rose fell to her knees when Caleb spotted her and ran over, his face twisting with pain and humiliation. One of his eyes was bruised black and purple. He ran into her outstretched arms and choked on a sob. Rose wrapped her arms tight around the little boy. She could remember doing so with Lucia, and it made the back of her throat and her eyes burn. She rubbed Caleb's back comfortingly and peered at him when he let go of her. "Caleb, who did that to you?"

"Jorge Duvall," Caleb sniffled, tears pouring down his flushed cheeks.

"Why?" Rose asked in a shocked whisper. Caleb's face twisted with pain and fresh tears coursed down his cheeks. She reached up and wiped them away with her thumbs. "Caleb… Are you being bullied? It's okay to tell me if you are. You can tell me; who gave you a black eye?"

Caleb sniffled, and another wave of tears leaked from his too-blue eyes. "Jorge Duvall."

"Who's Jorge Duvall, Caleb? Is he in your class?"

"He's in third grade," Caleb said miserably, running his sleeve under his nose. "He says if I don't bring him a cupcake to school every day, he's gonna kick my ass."

Rose's jaw dropped.

"Well, that is _not_ going to happen," she said, climbing off her knees. She hooked Caleb's backpack over her shoulder and offered her arms; he clambered into them, and she carried him to the car, where Evan was waiting, listening to the radio and singing along to a Nickelback song. Caleb climbed into the backseat of Evan's car and put his seatbelt on, hugging his backpack and looking very much like Miller.

"Hey, we've got to make a pit-stop at Safeway on the way home," Rose said, climbing into her seat beside Evan.

"Why?" Evan asked; she nodded back at Caleb, and Evan followed her gaze; his jaw dropped at the sight of Caleb's black eye and his tear-stained cheeks, but Rose shook her head.

"I'll explain later," she said quietly. "Come on, let's get home. I have to make sure Sean's put the dinner on."

"Good luck with that," Evan said tartly, mostly to himself; he drove them to the Sunol Boulevard plaza and parked up in front of the Safeway entrance; Caleb climbed out of the car and latched on to Rose's hand, and together they walked into the store and found the cakes and cookies aisle.

"Okay, what kind did Jorge say he wanted, Caleb?" Rose asked, scanning the shelves full of boxes of cakes and cupcakes and cookies and donuts.

"A _Hostess_ 'Ding Dong' cupcake," Caleb sniffled miserably. Rose found the Hostess cakes section and a box of Ding Dong chocolate cupcakes, and a little bag of gumdrops from the candy section for Caleb, paid for them, and walked Caleb back to the car, clutching a paper bag to his chest and rifling around in the bag of gumdrops, after giving Rose some red and purple ones.

"Hey, Caleb, what've you got there?" Evan asked, glancing back at his baby brother.

"Rose bought me gumdrops," Caleb said, his upset mood forgotten in the face of a treat. Lucia had been the same way, easily comforted. _To the very end_, Rose thought sadly, glancing back at Caleb.

"Did she? Did you say thanks?"

"Yup," Caleb replied. Evan shot Rose a quizzical look, glancing back at the paper bag in Caleb's lap, but he waited until they got back to the house before questioning her. Caleb ran upstairs to hide his gumdrops and the Hostess Ding Dongs. Rose dropped her stuff in her room, traded her sandals for her fluffy slippers, and returned downstairs. Evan was in the kitchen grabbing a snack. Sean was nowhere in sight; a large chicken, still in its original packaging, rested on the island countertop.

"Okay, so what was that all about?" Evan asked, as Finn came into the kitchen through the back door, his eyes alight with inspiration, two curls wilted with yellow paint. He paused when he saw her and then grinned, dazzling her, and ducked into the pantry for a Gatorade.

"Um…Caleb's being bullied at school," Rose said quietly, checking the kitchen door to see if he was around; he wasn't.

"What?" Evan's eyes widened, and Finn reappeared, looking murderous.

"Apparently some third-grader called Jorge Duvall threatened to, and I quote, 'kick his ass' if Caleb doesn't bring a Ding Dong to school every day for him," Rose said, and Finn's jaw dropped in horror.

"Caleb!" Evan shouted, and the little guy trotted into the room, blinking his wide blue eyes—one of them bruised. Finn strode over to his brother and was on his knees before him, gaping at the bruise.

"What's this about you being bullied?" Finn asked. Caleb glanced at Rose.

"You can tell them, Caleb," she said softly.

"Were those Ding Dongs in that paper-bag you got at Safeway?" Evan asked, looking down at Caleb. It was so strange and endearing to see these two fierce, independent teenagers drawn together in indignation over the treatment of their baby brother. Caleb nodded, twisting the hem of his baseball jersey nervously.

"Well, come on outside," Finn scowled. "We're gonna teach you to defend yourself. _We're_ the only ones who get to bully you." His fierce protectiveness sent a shiver up and down Rose's spine, and she watched through the huge kitchen window over the sink as Evan and Finn taught Caleb, who wasn't even half their height, self-defence.

She saw Sean in the garage, working on Finn's car, and knew he wouldn't be in to make the dinner any time soon. A little annoyed that Sean couldn't do just this one thing Regina had asked of him, Rose set to cooking. Regina hadn't said what she wanted to have _with_ the chicken, so she just did whatever she thought the boys would like. She covered the chicken with butter and herbs including garlic-powder, salt and pepper and some rashers of streaky bacon and shoved it into the oven, made some baked macaroni-cheese from scratch using some of the remaining bacon, put some potatoes on for mash and another few into the oven for baked-potatoes, tossed up a salad with tomatoes, beets, peppers, cucumber and sliced boiled eggs, grabbed the tubs of coleslaw and potato salad from the fridge and set the table with cutlery, plates and height-ordered condiments, and tidied up a little bit in the kitchen and living-room while she waited for the chicken to cook, basting it with the melted butter occasionally.

If she left the McGowan house in two years with nothing else, Rose knew she would be capable of feeding a continental army, the amount of food the McGowans had to have for every meal.

When Regina got home, she drifted in smelling the scents wafting around the kitchen. Roast chicken, bacon, cheese and buttery mashed potatoes.

"This smells _divine_," Regina sighed, looking around. Rose was doing her homework at the island, keeping an eye on Finn and Evan in the backyard with Caleb. Regina went and looked at the chicken, which was almost cooked, and the table spread. "I take it this wasn't Sean's doing."

"He's working on Finn's Impala," Rose said, tapping her pencil against her textbook nervously. "I think he thinks a magic fairy puts his dinner on the table."

"That sounds about right," Regina sighed. She shot Rose an affectionate smile. "What would we do without you, hm?"

"Um…Regina?" Rose asked, nervously. "Did you know Caleb's being bullied at school?"

"What?" Regina glanced up sharply, the Viking oven door slamming shut. "He's being bullied?"

"When he got out of detention today, he had a black eye, and he made me buy a box of Ding Dongs to give to the guy who punched him," Rose said anxiously. "Apparently the boy said if Caleb doesn't give him a cupcake a day, he'll get his ass kicked."

"What?" Regina gasped, her eyes wide. "The admin lady who called me about his detention said he'd been in a fight, but she didn't say he was being _bullied_. _Caleb_! Do you know where he is?"

"Evan and Finn are out in the backyard teaching him self-defence," Rose said, nodding at the window; Regina marched over to the window and observed for a few seconds.

* * *

Caleb was all anyone could think of that afternoon. When Evan and Finn had finished with their lesson on how to punch someone without breaking your thumb, and if he needed to go for a cheap-shot, kick straight for the crotch, and that fighting is only acceptable when you know you can win, Regina sat cuddling Caleb; when John got home from work, he sat with Caleb on his knee, debating with Regina as to whether they should call the school or call Jorge Duvall's parents about Caleb being bullied.

Amidst the distraction, Evan must have managed to sneak Hailey up to his room, because when Rose and Caleb went upstairs to get everyone for dinner and opened Evan's bedroom-door, they were having rather energetic sex on Evan's desk chair.

Her brain exploded from shock. When the last remnants of _OH MY GOD_ fizzled out, and Evan and Hailey had noticed the intrusion, she yelled, grabbed the door-handle, and slammed the door shut. Caleb looked up at her, his eyes wide and his eyebrows raised, his lips pulled together, trying not to smile. Rose glanced down at him.

"You forget what you just saw right now!" she said, pointing a finger at him threateningly. He just giggled. The bedroom door burst open. Evan, flush-faced and wearing only his hastily tugged-on boxers, appeared.

"Rose!"

"Er…Hi."

"Hi. What're you…doing?"

"Er…After I've finished making calls about a shrink for Caleb, and one for _me_, now that we're both scarred for life, dinner's on the table," Rose said, trying not to look anywhere but at Evan's face, definitely not at Hailey, who was hastily trying to dress while Caleb ogled and giggled. Rose put a hand over his eyes, and he just giggled harder, clawing at her fingers.

"Okay—er—thanks," Evan panted, his chest rising and falling. "We'll be right down."

"We?"

"Hailey's staying for dinner," Evan said, and the blush in his cheeks still hadn't receded.

"And your parents are aware of this?" Rose asked.

"Yeah."

"And you've put her order in with the chef?" Rose asked tartly, glancing from Evan to Hailey and back. Evan looked confused. Rose rolled her eyes. "You could've _told_ me she's staying for dinner. There aren't enough baked potatoes now…Never mind. Wash your hands before you come down—I don't even want to _know_ where they've been. Come on, Caleb."

They reached the stairs when Caleb burst out giggling. "Hailey was _naked_."

"Yes, she was," Rose shuddered, barely suppressing the urge to retch. "Caleb," she reached down and rested her hands on his shoulders and peered into his eyes. "I am _so_ sorry that she was the first girl you ever saw naked."

"She wasn't," Caleb said happily. "I've seen _you_ with no clothes on."

"When?" Rose yelped.

"When I was hiding in your closet," Caleb smiled unabashedly. Rose blinked after him as he slid down the banister. Completely unashamed. He reached the bottom and landed like a cat, then grinned up at her. "Come on, Rose!" Stunned, Rose shook her head slightly and made her way downstairs; Caleb latched onto her hand and pulled her into the kitchen.

What with the (to the majority, unwelcome) dinner guest, the seating arrangement was screwed up, and Caleb somehow ended up sitting in Rose's lap eating off a plate beside hers, while Hailey sat between Evan and Finn.

"This all is really great, Mrs McGowan," Hailey said, halfway through the meal, which had for the most part been _very_ uncomfortable. At least, for Rose. The boys were quiet, which was novel; Rose knew they only quieted down when they were feeling awkward or there was a really good meal in front of them, and she didn't know whether to put the boys' silence on her cooking or Hailey's dining with them.

"Oh, well, thank you, but you're telling the wrong person," Regina laughed. She and John obviously _hadn't_ been notified of Hailey joining them for dinner, what with the, 'Oh, you're staying for dinner? I think we can find something for you!' from Regina, and the dangerous '_Evan…_' from John. "Rose did all of the cooking, didn't she, Sean?"

Sean barely glanced at Rose as he ate his way through roast chicken, mash, baked potato, macaroni-cheese and salad, shrugged, and devoted himself back to his dinner.

"Oh," Hailey said, trying to sound polite.

"So, Hailey, where are you looking for college?" John asked, and the conversation steered off towards Hailey wanting to go either to Boston University or UCSB.

"Mommy, why were Evan and Hailey were sitting on his chair with no clothes on?" Caleb asked, and Rose almost choked on a mouthful of water; Finn _did_ choke on a chunk of chicken, and while the rest of the boys cackled with laughter and smirked at the guilty pair while Regina and John turned to stare at their second-born son, a melange of emotions flickering across their faces, and all of them deadly, Rose tried not to spit out a whole mouthful of water across the table, and thumped Finn on the back till he re-emerged, no longer coughing, but laughing, hard.

"They were playing adult Scrabble, Caleb," Rose said, and Finn giggled.

"Oh. Why didn't they have any clothes on?" Caleb asked innocently.

"We'll explain when you're a little older," Rose smiled.

"Oh. Okay. Mommy, why aren't Hailey's boobies as big as yours?" Caleb asked, and Finn sank back under the table in a fit of giggles; Rose was only kept in her seat by Caleb sitting on her lap, and she bowed over the table, giggling, trying to set her glass down without spilling her water.

"Um, Caleb…" Regina clearly didn't know what to say.

"You know," Caleb said, with the candid thoughtfulness only a child could get away with, pushing his fork around his plate of chicken and macaroni-cheese, "I like Rose's boobies more than I like Hailey's." Finn was in hysterics giggling, Doug was roaring with laughter, Sean was smirking, and Evan was as purple in the face as the beets in the salad.

"D'you wanna know why?" Caleb asked eagerly. Regina looked like she didn't know whether to scold him or laugh.

"Why? Tell us why," Doug cackled, tears glistening in his eyes from mirth.

"'Cause you can do this," Caleb said, relaxing utterly in Rose's lap so his head fell cradled between her breasts, his back against her stomach. Rose, red-faced and paralysed by silent giggles, couldn't stop laughing. "Rose, stop laughing, you're jiggling me!"

"Sorry!" Rose squeaked, unable to stop herself laughing. John called Caleb over to him, and whispered in his ear before hauling his youngest son into his lap, and Rose managed to finish her dinner, still giggling with Finn.

* * *

After dinner was finished, Hailey couldn't leave the house fast enough. Evan was hauled into John's home-study for a shouting-match about the house being 'PG-rated.' Finn and Miller did the dishes, Sean retreated to the garage after shooting Rose a rare and treasured grin, Doug disappeared up to his room and they all heard his music, and when Rose had finished her homework upstairs, there was a knock on the door a split-second before it burst open, and Caleb swung into the room clinging to the door-handle.

"Hey, kiddo," Rose grinned. This kid was awesome.

"Finn wants you to come downstairs so he can kick your butt at Guitar Hero, he says," Caleb grinned. Rose smiled, remembering her and Finn's challenge last night. She put her laptop on standby and followed Caleb downstairs to the basement, where most of the boys were now congregated.

It was the first time she and Finn had really hung out since last night; he had gone into his studio after dinner and Rose hadn't expected to see him again before midnight. But he was there, in the den, playing Mario Kart against Doug, Miller and Ian; Evan was sitting hugging a cushion and looking chagrined.

"Hey. What's up?" Rose asked, frowning worriedly.

"Nothin'. I just got spanked, is all," Evan pouted.

"You're a little old for that, aren't you?" Rose asked. "Unless that's what you're into?" Evan shot her a look that was half-exasperated, half-amused.

"You're not grounded again, are you?" Rose asked.

"No, I'm not grounded," Evan sighed heavily, watching the TV-screen. "My parents forgot to implement a no-sex rule in my grounding. So they made sure _next time_ I'm grounded, I won't be having sex for a while."

"They're going to cut off your penis?" Rose asked, teasing; Evan laughed.

"No," he chuckled. "I don't think even my dad could bring himself to do that just to make a point. Mom, on the other hand—she might!"

"Hey, there she is!" Finn said, grinning, when he glanced over her shoulder. "I hope you're ready to have your butt handed to you, Rose."

"As ready as you should be," Rose said, smiling; Finn's eyes glittered, and he turned back to Mario Kart. They finished their race through a lava maze and Caleb switched the game to Guitar Hero. Finn grabbed a guitar, slipped the controller into it and set up singles for each of them; he went first, with Van Halen's 'Running with the Devil,' achieving a high score. The boys all crowed and laughed with exultation as Finn smirked and handed her the guitar; she wrapped the strap over her neck, chose her song, and started playing.

They didn't know that she and Pogue had Guitar Hero battles almost every night to unwind after homework. She played AC/DC's 'Thunderstruck' faultlessly, achieving the best score for that song.

"You got spanked!" Caleb laughed at Finn, who sat there on the sofa with Evan looking stunned and faintly nauseated that he had been beaten by a girl at his own game.

"Sorry," Rose blushed, handing the guitar over to Doug, who wanted a go. "I did try and warn you when we were in the shed last night."

"What were you two doing in the shed together?" Evan asked, glancing from Rose to Finn; Finn just shrugged and smiled easily; Rose blushed at the look in Evan's eyes.

"An artist never discusses his work," Finn replied.

"Isn't it the magician never tells his secrets?" Rose asked.

"Same thing," Finn said, eyes following Doug's progress on a Beatles song. Rose and Evan both looked at him. "Okay, so maybe not _exactly_ the same thing," he amended.

"So, you're calling yourself an artist these days?" Evan asked. "Usually you're just going off about how much you suck." Finn punched Evan on the arm, hard. Evan punched him back. "So, he lets you hang out in the shed, huh? Finn _never_ lets anyone in there."

"Well, apparently I have very nice breasts," Rose smirked. "Maybe that has something to do with it." Finn curled up laughing so hard.

"You've gotta admit, Caleb knows a thing or two about timing and delivery," he chuckled, at Evan's red face. "He got you _good_!"

"Yeah, well, I'm just glad Mom and Dad didn't ground me again," Evan grumbled.

"I thought you two were supposed to be _talking_, anyway," Rose said reprovingly. "What happened?"

"Well, we talked, and argued—for like an hour," Evan said, blushing.

"And then you made up," Rose said, fighting a wave of nausea at the memory of Hailey writhing in Evan's lap. "And now I am scarred for life. Caleb, too."

* * *

**A.N.**: Kids do say the god-damndest things, in the words of Uncle Buck!


	17. Tantrums

**A.N.**: I kinda got in a weird mood when writing this chapter—you know when you're agitated for no reason and just want to scream really loud to make it go away? And you think about all the arguments you've had when you haven't found a comeback and you get really frustrated?

* * *

**Rose Amongst Thorns**

Chapter Seventeen

_Tantrums_

* * *

Thursday afternoon was manic. School was okay; Rose was only tripped up by Hailey once during cross-country training, because Rose outstripped her. It was when she got home that things got crazy.

Evan had some of his buddies from the lacrosse team over, as well as Darnell Wilcox and Jake Salvatore, who'd gotten a ride over to the McGowans' house in Evan's car because he was working on his bike.

Ian had just had his brand-new braces put on earlier in the day and Caleb had accidentally socked him one in the mouth when they were rough-housing in the backyard, so Sean had driven him to the hospital to have him checked out because there was blood _everywhere_. Caleb was nursing a huge bruise to the chest where Ian had punched him in pain-hazed retaliation, and had cried in Rose's arms for twenty minutes before he'd calmed himself down enough to scarf down about ten cookies.

Finn had some of his artsy friends over and they were all down in the den playing Xbox or whatever. Miller was watching the game he had TiVo-d in the kitchen because Evan and his buddies had taken the living-room, watching a movie and making a huge mess with potato chips and popcorn. Doug was apparently at a friend's house, but nobody had heard anything from him. Rose took it as normal that anyone could just leave the house whenever and nobody would ask questions. There were so many people, one kid wouldn't be missed, which was sad.

Rose sat doing her homework in the kitchen, Miller doing the same, when the doorbell rang. Being in a house full of guys who blasted their music and screamed at each other down in the den over a stolen baseball cap or whose turn it was on the Xbox, Rose waited a few seconds to see if anyone would go and get the door—and when the bell rang again, Finn emerged into the kitchen.

"Hey. Someone just pulled up in our driveway," Finn said, uncapping a Gatorade and draining half the drink.

"Who?" Rose asked.

"I don't know, but he looked angry," he said. Rose followed him to the door when the bell rang again, and opened it. A guy perhaps Evan's age or maybe a little older stood glowering in the porch, muscled and dark-skinned, and he might have been good-looking if he wasn't scowling.

"McGowan?"

"It's possible. How can I help you?" Finn asked politely.

"I'm Miguel Duvall, Jorge's brother," the guy said, scowling.

"Hey! That's the kid who beat up Caleb," Rose said, stepping up beside Finn.

"That's not how I heard it—my kid brother came home with a fat lip today, said if he didn't bring two Ding Dongs to your brother tomorrow, he's gonna get it again," Miguel said to Finn, scowling deeper.

"Hold on—you're saying _Caleb_'s been beating up your brother?" Rose asked, frowning. That didn't sound right—for one, Caleb was half _her_ size, and she was tiny, and the only way he could bloody a lip was if there were metal contraptions involved like brand-new braces.

"That's not right—Caleb came home with a black eye yesterday," Finn frowned. Rose went to the stairs and shouted up; "Caleb—can you come downstairs, please?" They heard Caleb's telltale clomping run, and the little boy appeared at the top of stairs, leapt onto the banister and slid down into Finn's arms; he deposited his baby brother on the floor.

"Yeah?" Caleb smiled and latched on to Rose's leg.

"_This_ is the kid?" Miguel stared, perplexed, at little Caleb. Caleb was a very _young_ six-year-old, Rose knew it. He was very small, and _very_ adorable with his white-blonde curls and enormous navy-blue eyes.

"Caleb, um, this is Jorge Duvall's brother," Rose said, gesturing to Miguel Duvall. Caleb's eyes widened when he looked at Miguel's bulging muscles.

"Uh-oh," he said contritely, tucking his face against Rose's leg.

"He says you've been beating up Jorge," Finn said, frowning down at Caleb, paint-splattered hands on his hips. "Is it true?"

"Hold on, hold on, something's not right—Jorge can tear this kid apart," Miguel said, staring at Caleb.

"Caleb, what's going on?" Rose asked quietly. Caleb pressed his face harder against her leg. "Caleb?"

"Jorge was picking on me," Caleb said quietly. "So I got someone else to pick on Jorge."

"What do you mean?"

"I hired a bodyguard," Caleb said innocently. "It costs me one Ding Dong every day."

"The infamous hired bodyguard defence," Finn said, smiling.

"I don't buy it—why wouldn't Jorge just tell me about this bodyguard?" Miguel asked.

"Hold on—Caleb, who's your bodyguard?" Finn asked.

"Annalisa Dettweiler," Caleb said, and Finn's eyebrows rose.

"Oh. Well, enough said," he shuddered. Rose wondered what kind of elementary-school girl could make a sixteen (maybe seventeen) year old kid shudder.

"That is one twisted kid brother you got there," Miguel said, pointing at Caleb.

"He's not twisted—he's just trying to protect himself," Rose said, frowning. "Your brother started the whole thing giving Caleb a black eye." Miguel Duvall scowled down at Caleb.

"I want you to call this off," he said darkly. Rose hugged Caleb to her.

"He'll do no such thing until your bully of a brother lays off," Rose said coolly. "You call _Jorge_ off."

"Don't you tell me what to do!" Miguel growled.

"Hey, settle down," Finn glowered, "or I'll give Rosie a donut to kick your butt." Miguel glanced from Finn to Rose, who was glaring and hugging Caleb to her, to Caleb.

"Fine. I'll talk to Jorge," he spat out. "I'm outta here." Finn half-slammed the door behind Miguel, and they heard his car squeal out onto the road. Finn whirled around, grinning.

"Alright, Einstein!" he laughed, offering his palm to Caleb for a high-five.

"Finn, don't encourage him," Rose said disbelievingly. She couldn't understand the male ego and need for physical altercations to settle a dispute.

"He's a genius!"

"He's an extortionist," Rose corrected. She glanced down at Caleb. "So, am I buying Ding Dongs for Annalisa Dettweiler instead of Jorge now?"

"No," Caleb said, releasing her leg. "I told Jorge I'd call Annalisa off if he gave me two Ding Dongs every day. I give one to Annalisa and eat the other one. It doesn't cost you or Mommy anything."

Rose stared down at Caleb, and then caught Finn's eye. He looked similarly stunned by the sheer brilliance of it. "He is a genius," she said breathlessly, eyeing Caleb warily. Finn chuckled and went back down into the basement.

"After you, Godfather," Rose said, stepping aside so Caleb could walk into the kitchen before her. He strutted off, looking smug, and began raiding the pantry as Rose answered the phone. _Do I have to do everything around here?_ she wondered, hearing the buzzer alarm for the washing-machine to signal the end of the cycle.

"McGowan residence," Rose said politely. "Hi, Regina!"

"_Hey Rosie. Wow. It sounds manic there_," Regina said. Rose rolled her eyes; she had no idea. "_I just called to check in; I'm gonna be held back at work; I've got a bunch of stuff to do_." So Rose told her what her horde of devils was up to, about Caleb hiring Annalisa Dettweiler as a bodyguard and Ian being taken to the E.R. with a bloody mouth, Evan and Finn having their friends over, Doug being at one of _his_ friend's houses, and John not being home yet.

"_Oh, I forgot, it's Thursday_," Regina sighed, sounding pained. "_Evan's friends usually come over for a big pasta-feed on Thursdays. And nobody's there to cook_."

"I can cook," Rose said quietly.

"_You cooked yesterday, Rose, _and_ Saturday_," Regina reminded her. "_Can you ask Finn to cook? There's enough stuff in the fridge to make a big batch of pasta for you all_."

"Okay," Rose said. "What time do you think John will be home?"

"_Maybe eight_," Regina said. "_Thursdays are his busiest days for some reason. I shouldn't be too late, but I don't want the kids to get hungry_."

"Shall I save you and John something?" Rose asked.

"_No, thank you, sweetie; I'll call John and have him bring some take-out home for us_," Regina said.

"Okay, well, we'll see you later, then," Rose said; she and Regina hung up.

* * *

Rose had already had to clean up the mess that was the trail of Ian's blood coming in from the backyard after Caleb had slugged him accidentally while they played _WWE_ Wrestling, and now she looked around the kitchen and saw what a mess Regina had to deal with every time her sons had even only a few friends over for the afternoon. Everything was in chaos; Miller kept everything organised in height-order, of course, but there were empty Gatorade bottles and chip packets and cookie boxes and candy wrappers everywhere, shoes thrown everywhere, muddy footprints where shoes _hadn't_ been taken off, backpacks thrown everywhere; she had the laundry-room working overtime to clean sports uniforms for Friday and the weekend. The fridge was almost empty and they were almost out of snacks and Gatorades in the pantry. She wondered how the hell Regina managed to find the time to do the grocery shopping when she was held up at work and all of her sons were looking out for number one.

Well, almost all of her sons; Miller and Caleb were now playing Go Fish at the island, after Miller had helped teach Caleb how to do his math homework.

"That was your Mom," Rose said, glancing at Miller. "She's gonna be held up at work again. She said to ask Finn to cook some pasta…"

She and Finn hadn't really spoken since _that_ night when she'd been lying in his lap and kissing him. They had chatted during dinner and shared a giggle over Caleb's Hailey-Rose breast comparison, had swum in the same lane during gym and shared some snacks during Art, but that was it. And now he had his friends over and she might have to watch Supernatural alone in the kitchen, which had panoramic windows that were dark by the time her TV show would start, which was never good when she had an overactive imagination brought on by a love of reading fiction and a wood at the bottom of the yard.

She went downstairs to the basement to find Finn; he and his friends were wrestling and laughing loudly and listening to music _and_ playing Xbox, sprawled on the sofas and beanbags and making the huge space look a lot smaller.

"Hey, Finn," Rose said, touching his shoulder; he had the Xbox controller and was jabbing away at the buttons; it looked like he was playing Halo or something. Maybe Assassin's Creed. She couldn't tell—Rose didn't really do video-games.

"Hey," he said, shouting at one of his 'teammates' as he got ambushed and killed. "Thanks for the back-up, Garrett!"

"Finn!"

"What?" Finn glanced over his shoulder as red flooded his half of the television screen.

"Your mom called—she's been held up," Rose said, and then realised he wasn't paying her attention, laughing at his friends wrestling on the floor over the last of the tortilla chips. "Get 'im Jerry! Get him!"

Rose huffed a sigh. This was too much. She could handle Doug ignoring her; that was prerequisite for living here. But _Finn_. After he had kissed her—after he had made her scar feel beautiful—nu-uh.

She smacked him round the back of the head and stalked back upstairs, hearing his yelp and shout of her name, but ignored him. She walked into Regina's best-room, to find Evan and his friends sprawled out on the sofas watching _porn_ on the big-screen TV.

"Oh, guys! Classy!" she declared, gaping with incredulity and disgust. She looked at Evan. "Your little brothers _are_ home, you know!"

"Yeah…"

"And—Oh, never mind! You'll do whatever the hell you want, anyway," Rose groused. She was quickly losing patience with these McGowan boys. She glanced around at the lacrosse players, Darnell (who grinned and waved) and Jake, who wasn't watching the movie but reading one of Sean's motorcycle magazines. "Who's staying for dinner?" she asked.

They all raised their hands.

"Great," Rose grumbled. "And Finn's friends, are they staying too?"

"Probably," Evan said unconcernedly. "Mom always finds something to give us for dinner."

"I don't believe this family," Rose whispered to herself, shaking her head dazedly, walking back to the kitchen. '_Mom always finds something to give us for dinner_'—like Regina searched the woods for a magic fairy or fairy-godmother who just _procured_ meals for them out of thin air without any effort. It was no wonder they went through food the rate they did; they thought it was just a limitless supply.

"Are you guys hungry?" Rose asked, glancing at Miller and Caleb, quietly playing Go Fish at the island. Caleb grinned. Rose sighed heavily and went to the fridge, poured some juice for Caleb, and started searching for stuff to make for dinner. They needed to go grocery shopping, and definitely, _definitely_ needed to make a trip to Costco to stock the pantry. She managed to find a big tub of crème fraiche, fresh zucchinis from the Farmer's Market and bacon, and knew she could make a tasty pasta dish for dinner with that.

"Nobody's allergic to mushrooms, right?" she asked, glancing over her shoulder. Miller shook his head; she grabbed the container of mushrooms and a chopping board and knife, and started cutting up the zucchinis, mushrooms and bacon.

Caleb cut his finger getting in the way of her knife—she didn't know _how_ the hell he managed to do it—so she had to stick his hand under the cold water faucet and find where Regina kept her first aid kit, putting some antiseptic cream on the wound before covering it with a Spiderman band-aid. After he'd stopped crying, Caleb went right on playing Go Fish with Miller, and Rose went right back to cooking, tying her hair up into a messy bun.

Rose was hot, and sweaty, and irritated, and nobody was offering to help her as she made enough pasta to feed a whole company of Marines. She had to find the biggest saucepan and filled it with enough pasta to feed over twenty people, brought in a plug-in fan to cool her off as she stood over the six-burner Viking stove, alternately stirring the pasta so it didn't stick and browning the bacon and mushrooms, softening the zucchinis, and trying to get the timing perfect to add the crème fraiche to the veggies and bacon so it didn't curdle while the pasta finished cooking. It was noisy and loud and hot and _nobody asked if she needed any help_.

The vat of pasta was so heavy. She had to wrap the handles in dishcloths so she didn't burn herself, and staggered over to the sink to drain it into a colander, caught sight of movement and panted, wiping the back of her arm across her forehead.

"Dinner's almost ready," she told whoever he was, the guy with turquoise hair, who was rummaging through the box of potato chips.

"Oh, that's okay; I'm not hungry for dinner just yet," the guy said, and left the kitchen. Indignation hammering her blood through her veins, Rose glared after him, and turned to the sink to strain the pasta. She tipped it back into the vat with the crème fraiche, vegetables and bacon strips and put it back on the hob, heating it thoroughly.

"Caleb, can you go get everyone else, please?" Rose asked, and Caleb smiled and ran off, hollering at the top of his lungs for his brothers; she heard the commotion he caused in the best-room, and then again in the basement, calling everyone up to dinner. She counted plates and set the table, and the noise level in the kitchen rose to maximum as Evan, Finn and their friends surged into the room, drawn by the smells of a cooked dinner and rumbling stomachs. Rose set the vat of pasta down on the heat-mat on the table, and went to get glasses for drinks.

She turned back, and Evan and his friends were already leaving, bearing huge piled-over plates of pasta; Finn and his friends were a little better; they had chosen to remain _at_ the table to eat their mounded helpings of pasta. Miller and Caleb had no plates, and the vat was completely empty. Not even a scrap of bacon or a piece of zucchini or mushroom remained.

That was it.

She'd had enough.

She could not stand how much they took for granted any longer. They needed a slap in the face, and she was going to give it to them. She just wished Doug were here to receive it, too.

"Where do you think you're going?" Rose snapped at Evan and his friends. They paused, wide-eyed.

"To the best-room," Evan said.

"Back to your porn?" Rose asked coldly. "You want to watch porn in your own room, that's fine, but your parents won't appreciate it when I tell them you and your friends were watching it in _their_ best sitting room, with your six-year-old brother around." She went to the laundry-room and grabbed the vacuum, shoving it at Evan. "You're gonna vacuum that room and get rid of all those crushed chips and kernels." She knew her North Carolina accent thickened when she was angry, but didn't dwell on it. She turned to Finn. "And you!" She grabbed a dustpan and brush and a trash-bag and thrust them at Finn. "Go downstairs and clean up that den; I'm horrified you let people come over with the state it's in. Your mom called and asked _one_ thing from you today, and that was to make dinner. Yet again I stepped up and cooked for y'all since you seem to think everything your mom puts on your dinner-table is conjured out of thin-air by some fairy-godmother. I spent half an hour cooking this meal, and not one of you could respect that there are five other people who'll be needing dinner, too! What're Sean and Ian gonna eat, huh? Unless you hadn't noticed, the fridge is almost empty because y'all just keep helping yourself to whatever you want without thinking about anybody else. Well I'm sick of it! From now on you're gonna help around this house, and you're gonna start helping your mom!"

The boys—Evan, Finn, Jake, Darnell, and the other unnamed ones she didn't know—stared at her, stunned. A few flushed in embarrassment and some were trying not to smile, but she didn't care. She was out of here.

"Miller! Caleb! Go and get in the truck! We're going out for dinner. Wherever you want. I'm paying." She grabbed her bag and Miller and Caleb scuttled out of the kitchen. Rose backtracked at the front-door. "_And I expect all of the dishes to be washed and put back in their places when I get back_!" she shouted at the top of her lungs.

She slammed the door after her, and almost ran over Ian, who had just returned with Sean. "We're going out!" she half-shouted. "Get in the truck!" She stalked to her truck, not pausing to see Sean's stunned expression and Ian's raised eyebrows; Miller and Caleb were already strapped in, and she slammed her door when she climbed into the cab.

"I'm sorry I shouted, boys," Rose said quietly, anger making her blood boil and her hands shake, jamming the keys into the ignition; her truck roared to life, and in her rear-view mirror, she saw Finn and Evan on the porch, slack-jawed. Sean's face now showed barely any surprise at her tone, and he lifted Ian into the bed of the truck, which delighted him, and climbed in after him. She pulled away from the barn and down the lawn and by the time Evan and Finn were jogging down the lawn towards them, Rose had pulled out onto the street and was making her way towards Bernal.

"On October 8, 1956, Don Larsen pitched the only perfect game in World Series history, beating the Brooklyn Dodgers at Yankee Stadium, two-nothing," Miller said. "Your accent is pretty when you're mad."

Rose flushed and glanced at him. "I'm sorry I yelled."

"They made you mad for not waiting for you to serve up dinner," Miller said. They had been working on him talking about stuff other than baseball, and as long as he begun with a question, they could have short conversations that were reaching normalcy.

"Yes, they did," Rose said, and her anger was subsiding, replaced with the throat- and eye-burning hurt she associated with the threat of tears.

"Can we go to Jim's for dinner?" Caleb asked, peeking around Miller.

"Is it open?" Rose asked, and Caleb grinned and nodded. She shrugged and made her way to the Sunol Boulevard plaza, parking outside Jim's Country Style Restaurant. Sean hopped out of the truck-bed as soon as she'd stopped, and as she climbed out of her seat and slammed her door, he was lifting Ian down.

"Hey, Ian, how's your mouth?" she asked quietly, wincing at Ian. He had just had his braces put on earlier today, and Caleb smacking him—accidentally—in the mouth must have cut the insides of his mouth to shreds. Ian's lower-lip trembled. She squatted down next to him, hoisting her purse higher on her shoulder. "You know it was an accident, right? Caleb didn't mean to hit you in the mouth." He nodded almost imperceptibly. She rubbed his arm comfortingly. "We'll get you a _big_ milkshake when we get inside. That's what my daddy bought me when I got my braces on. Come on. Caleb?" Caleb ran around the truck and came to latch on to her hand; Miller followed, expression as defiant as it had been that first day they'd eaten inside the cafeteria at school. She guessed he didn't very often eat out in restaurants. At least, not without his mom.

She linked an arm with Miller's as they entered the restaurant, seeing the set of his shoulders tense up. He glanced at her, and she could see the wilfulness dazzling his clear blue eyes. He wanted to be able to do this. She smiled.

"I know you can do it," she half-whispered. He nodded slightly, then set his shoulders broadly, lifted his chin, and gazed defiantly around the restaurant.

"Table for five?" the pretty woman who greeted them smiled. "I've got a booth all ready for you. If you'll follow me."

"To the ends of the earth," Caleb sighed, swooning and gazing up at her adoringly; the woman laughed. That was enough to jumpstart Rose out of her bad mood and laugh. The things that little boy came out with—mostly because he had so many older brothers—but he was the most charming of the brothers because he was so young and naïve too.

"Hullo, Caleb," the waitress chuckled, rumpling his hair. They followed her to the same booth Rose had sat at with Evan and his buddies after Darnell's party. Miller made them sit in height-order, so she sat between him and Sean, with the 'runts' as their elder brothers called them, sitting opposite. Miller sat on a chair at the end of the table that the woman had brought over for him, and they all scanned their menus.

"Okay, guys, d'you know what you want?" Rose asked, glancing at Caleb and Ian. Ian turned his menu around and pointed to the drinks section; a huge thick-thick chocolate-chip milkshake. Rose smiled.

"Sounds good to me," she said. "Caleb, what about you?"

"Can I have Brenner?" Caleb asked.

"What's Brenner?" Rose asked, laughing.

"Breakfast _and_ dinner," Caleb grinned. "Turk has it on Scrubs _all_ the time."

"Does he? I see," Rose chuckled. "Alright. What would you like for Brenner?"

"_Pancakes_!" Caleb declared, sighing with longing at the sight of a huge stack of pancakes being taken over to another table past them. Rose smiled and scanned the kids' menu, settling it with Caleb that he should have six silver-dollar pancakes instead of three of the fattest pancakes she had ever seen.

"Okay…Miller what about you?" Rose asked.

"Chilli, house-fries, Coke with no ice, fruit cup," Miller said decisively, setting his menu down on top of Ian's and Caleb's. A tiny smile was tugging the corners of his lips and he caught her eye, and the smile widened a little.

"Okay, I brought the good stuff over," the waitress said, reappearing with two sheets of paper and Crayola crayons, and a jug of coffee that smelled _very_ strong, and _very_ good. Sean held his brown coffee-mug up instantly, and the woman laughed. "I knew you'd have some, Sean. Where are Evan and Finn? They don't usually miss out on a dinner here."

"They're at home," Rose said tersely, glaring at the table.

"Rose yelled at 'em 'cause they ate all the pasta without giving us any," Caleb spoke up. "They had all their friends over today, and they were watching naughty stuff in Mommy's best-room on the TV and making a mess in the den. So Rose yelled at them. And she said we could have Brenner here." Sean shifted in his seat next to her, and Rose glanced up at the waitress.

"I see," the waitress said thoughtfully. "What happened to you, Ian? Did you get in the way of a baseball again?"

"No, Caleb's fist," Ian murmured, doing his best not to move his mouth too much.

"Ouch. Oh dear," the waitress said. "Well, what can I get you all?" Sean ordered a BLT sandwich and fries; Rose ordered a cup of chilli and home-fries like Miller and a chocolate-chip milkshake; Miller glanced skittishly at Rose before spouting off his order nervously, staring at the table; the waitress took it in her stride, commenting that she hadn't seen him in a while; Ian pointed out his milkshake order and Rose had to change Caleb's order when he asked for ten 'growed-up size' pancakes.

It was a quiet meal; mostly, Caleb chattered away, peering over the table divide to another group and chatting with them and flirting with the waitress; Rose and Miller continued their fact-question conversation tactic until Ian's mouth started paining him and he came to clamber onto Rose's lap, having seen her cradle Caleb earlier in the afternoon when he was hurt, for a hug. Sean was reading the paperback he'd tucked into the back-pocket of his grease-streaked jeans, and kept slugging down the strong black coffee the waitress kept coming to refill for him. When their food arrived, and Miller started tucking into his chilli and fries, his small smile turned into a beam. When they had finished, and Rose went to go and pay, she discovered the bill had 'already been taken care of.'

"What does that mean?" Rose asked, frowning.

"I had Una put it on Dad's tab," someone said behind her; Sean and the boys had left the table and congregated behind her.

"It was supposed to be my treat," Rose said, flustered. Sean shrugged.

"Alright…well…I just need to stop by in Safeway and pick up a few emergency groceries," she said, as they left. "Who wants to come with me?" The general consensus was that _none_ of the boys really wanted to go food-shopping, but Caleb was hyper from the syrup on his pancakes and needed to walk it off, and Miller kept close by her; Sean shrugged, and she moved the truck to the other side of the parking-lot, the little ones riding shotgun, Sean and Miller in the truck-bed.

She knew from memory what they needed, and tried not to make the boys suffer needlessly as she did the grocery shopping, mentally planning what meals she'd most likely end up cooking; fresh fruit, vegetables, dried pasta, tortillas, bread, bagels, milk, juice, eggs, cheese, chips, cookies, Goldfish, Fruit Gushers, Fruit _Winders_, Fruit Shoots, frosted Circus Animals, Cheez-Its, Juicy-Juice, breakfast cereals, Gatorades, Clif energy bars and Fruit Leathers, meat (beef, chicken, lamb for another moussaka, burgers and sausages, sliced ham, turkey, bologna for sandwiches), peanut-butter, jars of jelly, kitchen-towel, toilet-paper, cleaning supplies and a fresh box of Spiderman band-aids, because Caleb had used the last one on his finger earlier.

The little boys were very well-behaved; they didn't fight or argue in the store or make Rose raise her voice because they were getting in the way of other shoppers and generally being a nuisance; Miller kept their shopping-carts organised; Sean pushed the carts, arm-muscles bulging, and the boys all each helped carry bags back to the truck when Rose had shelled out almost two hundred bucks for everything. Sean stole her receipt and folded it into his back-pocket with his novel, which Rose didn't understand.

Parking up near the porch for easy unloading, Rose noted John and Regina's cars both parked by the garage and the lack of cars belonging to Finn's and Evan's friends.

"Okay, guys; your parents are home," she said quietly. "Remember what I said?" Ian and Caleb nodded, and she glanced over her shoulder into the truck-bed, where Miller and Sean sat amongst the shopping bags. She had warned the boys to be on their best behaviour when they got home, as Regina and John would be tired from late days at work and commuting, and the boys tended to make a fuss about bedtime.

She unlocked the front door and the boys started carrying shopping bags into the kitchen; the house was quiet, like the tranquillity after a devastating storm, with only someone playing music upstairs. Light spilled into the darkened hall from the kitchen, where Regina and John sat eating Chinese takeout and playing cards, talking over their day.

Regina glanced over her shoulder when John's jaw went slack, and following her husband's gaze, Regina's eyes widened and she stared as the boys walked single-file into the kitchen carrying their shopping-bags, depositing them carefully on the island (Ian helping Caleb because he was too little to reach without spilling the contents of his bag). Sean deposited his bags and pulled out the receipt he had stolen from Rose and handed it to Regina, who looked stunned as Rose and Miller started putting everything away into the fridge and pantry.

"You went grocery shopping!" Regina blurted, looking stunned. Rose glanced across the kitchen at her and nodded, handing Sean some stuff to put in the pantry.

"Yeah. The boys pretty much wiped out the whole kitchen today with all their friends over," Rose said quietly, subtly taking inventory of the state of the kitchen; the dishwasher was empty, plates, cutlery, bowls, glasses and cups put away neatly in their cupboards, the countertops cleaned and tidied, the stuff she had used to make dinner washed and put away. The floor looked like it had been swept and the kitchen table had that lemony cleanness of having just been scrubbed down.

"I heard my boys got verbally spanked," John said, and when Rose glanced at him, he was fighting not to grin. Caleb giggled. Rose flushed hotly. Regina still looked stunned that her sons were putting away groceries that _they_ had gone to buy.

"I, er, might have gotten a little angry," Rose said quietly, flushing hotter.

"Well, whatever you said to 'em, sure as hell worked," John remarked, setting a full-house down on the table, so that Regina hissed and threw down her cards, reaching for her ice-tea. "When I got home from work, Evan and Finn were vacuuming and doing the last of the dishes."

"I hope you took a picture," Regina said. "That's the last we'll see of _that_ for a while."

"I wouldn't count on it," Sean said quietly, glancing at Rose pointedly. Rose flushed and helped Caleb lift one of the cartons of milk into the fridge door.

"Rose…did _you_—you _paid_ for all of this!" Regina said, and when Rose glanced at her, she was reading the receipt Sean must have just handed to her.

"Um…yeah," Rose said, flushing.

"We'll pay you back for this," John said seriously, frowning at the receipt. "We don't expect you to play parent with our kids." Rose shrugged.

"We needed groceries," she said quietly, handing cereal boxes to Miller, who was organising the pantry according to height-order. She helped the boys finish up putting away the last of the groceries, stuffed the empty bags in the caddy in the laundry-room and waved awkwardly at John and Regina, and made her way to the kitchen door.

"Come on, Caleb, let's go get ready for bed," Ian said, taking Caleb's hand; the two boys scuttled off, to the sound of Regina blurting in shock that her littlest, most rebellious boys were going voluntarily to bathe and get into their pyjamas.

"And make sure you show Miller your Math homework," Rose reminded Ian, as he and Caleb scuttled past her; Ian nodded and he and Caleb ran upstairs. Rose followed, slowly, feeling weary from the tumult of emotions she had felt in the last two hours.

She now had to finish her homework, which had disappeared from the kitchen island, and didn't really _want_ to do hours of reading for History, or make a start on her character comparison essay for Helena and Hermia for English. Miller had helped her with her Math homework, so that was out of the way. She heard the water running in the bathroom and knew it was Ian running a bath; Caleb was playing with toy cars in the hallway, and she rumpled his hair as she passed, closing the bedroom-door behind her as she entered her room.

She found her homework, textbooks and notebooks spread out on her desk the way they had been on the island downstairs, and someone had vacuumed her floor and folded the clothes she had tossed on the chaise this morning trying to figure out what to wear.

Someone had left a little packet of gumdrop candies on top of her French grammar workbook. A little act of contrition, she guessed. _Finn_, she added, seeing that there was a paint-laced fingerprint on the box.

She suddenly felt a cramping sensation in her chest as guilt swept over her for yelling at him earlier, and kneaded the heel of her palm over her heart. _Well, he deserved it_, she thought, putting her bag down on the bench at the end of her bed and kicking off her sandals. She went over to her stereo, which she had finally unpacked onto the dresser with some photographs, and a stack of her favourite CDs, the others organised on top of the bookcase, which she had organised with her books. She picked out _Vault: Def Leppard Greatest Hits (1980-1995)_, one of her dad's favourite hard-rock CDs, put it in the CD tray and hit play. She smiled when the music came on, blasting loudly, and rivalling Evan's music next-door.

* * *

**A.N.**: Yeah, again, I got in a very weird mood when I was writing this. Maybe because we're having a heat-wave here (in England) and the English don't actually _need_ air-conditioning for 363 days of the year, so we can't deal when it gets hot!


	18. Contrition

**A.N.**: Please review!

* * *

**Rose Amongst Thorns**

Chapter Eighteen

_Contrition_

* * *

Singing along to Def Leppard, her foot jigging uncontrollably, Rose uncapped her favourite Montblanc nib pen, smoothed her notebook, and started writing. She had decided to work on her Helena-Hermia comparison essay after all, energised by her music. Hard rock always put her in a productive mood. Tom Jones music, too, but that was just random. She grabbed her _A Midsummer Night's Dream_ book from her bookcase and flipped through the pages for her earmarks, where she had marked her favourite passages and highlighted her favourite quotes, and used mini Post-Its to mark passages that showed different themes. She figured if it was immoral to hand in essays she'd already received A's on, using the notes and quotes wasn't.

As 'Two Steps Behind' came on, there was a soft knock on the door, and she glanced away from her essay, which she had written in stream-of-conscience, to edit later. Finn stood in the doorway, shoulders hunched, hands in his jeans pockets, looking the very picture of a naughty boy who'd received a sharp spanking. She stilled, and licked her lips nervously.

"Hey," she said quietly. His mouth twitched.

"Hey," he replied, toeing the line separating her soft carpet from the natural wood floor of the hallway.

"Do you…want to come in?" Rose asked quietly. Finn glanced up at her and shrugged awkwardly, came into her room, closed the door, and quietly locked it before walking over to her desk. He perched against the edge of the desk, arms crossed over his chest. Rose glanced up at him, flushing nervously. She capped and uncapped her pen out of nervous habit, and her foot wouldn't stop jigging.

"Okay, so…I guess we both know I owe you an apology," Finn said quietly, sighing. He caught her eye, and she saw the depth of regret in his eyes. "Rose, I'm really sorry that I was so selfish and insensitive this afternoon." Her heart ached, and she glanced up at him. He reached out and tenderly touched one fingertip to her cheek. "Did I hurt your feelings real bad?" She shifted one shoulder, and Finn sank to a squat, one knee resting on the floor, looking up at her. Those grey-blue eyes were burning with intensity. That one fingertip trailed to her lips and he licked his own when he ran his fingertip across her lower-lip.

"I'm sorry," he repeated, earnestly. "I…realised after you left that you've done a lot of stuff around here that no one's properly thanked you for, like cleaning the bathroom, and picking up Caleb from a game—stuff you don't have to do, and you've done it all without complaining _once_ about the way we've all been treating you." Rose shifted her shoulders, flushing.

She just wasn't the type of person to complain. Her dad used to say she was dynamite with a really long fuse; it took a long time for things to build up and make her explode. She got that from her mother; when her mom got upset, before Lucia died, she used to hide in her closet next to her designer shoes with a bottle of champagne and talk on the phone to her sister in Manhattan; she used to be highly emotional and prone to overreacting. Rose's dad was the opposite; he was where she got the slow-fuse from. He was very mellow, but deathly sweet. Rose got her dad's mellow temper, but when something upset her enough, she could pull one over even her mother's crying fits.

"I've only been here less than two weeks; your mom's been doing this nearly twenty years; imagine how she feels," Rose mumbled.

"Sorely underappreciated, I'd guess," Finn said sadly. He reached out and took her hand in his, sighing softly.

"You cleaned up the kitchen," she said quietly. Finn glanced up at her and smiled softly.

"You're a real Southern woman when you're angry," he said, his eyes roving covetously over her face, and then he grinned. "Frightened everyone half to good-manners. Who'd have thought a five-foot-five little blonde could put football and hockey players in line!"

"I get that from my grandma," Rose blushed hotly. "She was a real Southern debutante, like Scarlett O'Hara."

"I could see that in you," Finn chuckled, and his eyes glittered. "Your accent gets thicker when you're angry. I like it."

"You do?" Rose asked timidly. Sometimes her Manhattan-bred mother claimed she sounded like a Southern hick when she was angry. Rose called her a Yank in return, so it didn't matter so much what her mom thought of her accent.

"Mm-hmm," Finn said, nodding, and drawing closer, so they were almost nose to nose. "And I'll show you how much, too!" With the softest, most delicious pressure, Finn pressed his lips against hers. Her insides exploded at the sensation of _kissing him_ again, the heady scent of warm laundry and tangy paint, and a tiny hint of cologne and candle-smoke; he tasted of Hot Tamales candy and 'Cool Blue' Gatorade, and he made her feel like she never had before, like she had at once run three marathons in a row and as if she had spent hours lying on a tropical beach, completely and utterly relaxed and so hot she might melt out of her own skin at the same time. Tingles swept up and down her body in great waves and she shivered as the sensation reached the most sensitive parts of her body and flushed her with heat. Never had kissing anyone else felt like this.

Unwillingly, it seemed, Finn broke away from her, licking his lips subtly. His eyes were on fire.

"_You've_ had a Jim's Diner chocolate-chip milkshake!" he accused, gasping. Rose blushed and smiled coyly. "I can't believe I missed out on Jim's!"

"Well, it was your own fault," Rose reminded him. He sighed heavily, pouting.

"True. We'll have to go there for lunch one day," Finn said, and his eyes sparkling. Was he…asking her out on a date? Her chest tightened hopefully.

"I'd like that," she admitted, flicking her eyes over his. "If—if you're gonna kiss me like that every time I get mad and yell, maybe I should do it more often," Rose half-whispered, breathless and flushed with heat and those strange tingles that screamed in protest when Finn stopped touching her. He smiled, and the tingles buzzed with delight.

"I'll say," Finn managed to say, sounding as breathless as she felt.

A soft knock on the door, and someone trying to turn the handle, made Finn spring away from Rose so fast he actually fell flat on his back tripping over his own feet. Rose couldn't help blurting a laugh, even as Finn scrabbled off the floor, wiping his mouth with his t-shirt; Rose wiped her lips, sure anyone could see them throbbing, and Finn unlocked the door.

"Hi Dad," he said.

"Hey buddy," John said, when Rose glanced up. "What're you doing in Rose's room?"

"Hm? Oh, just… I was apologising," Finn said honestly. He caught Rose's eye and smiled. "And I was just gonna start begging her to help me with my French grammar homework." Rose raised her eyebrows. He was? Well, she _was_ the best in the class…which was why Monsieur Gilliard hated her so much.

"Glad to hear it," John said, flicking his eyes over Rose's bedroom, landing on the _Vault_ CD. "I _thought_ I heard Def Leppard up here. I didn't realise it was your music, Rose."

"Dad's stuck in the Eighties," Finn said flatly, glancing at Rose. She laughed.

"What! It wasn't a bad place to be! I was still in college—I'd just met your mom—and I didn't have seven little moochers sucking my bank account dry," John replied flatly, and Rose smiled when he caught her eye and winked. "D'you mind if I come in?"

"Sure," Rose smiled. She and John hadn't really talked—not like she and Regina talked, almost every night. He was definitely a man's man, perfect for the head of a huge family of boys.

"I'm gonna…be back in a sec," Finn said, sensing some kind of purpose in John's visit to Rose's room. He closed the door on them, and Rose glanced at John, nervous. Could he tell that the air crackled between her and his third-born son?

John took the stack of CDs by her stereo and sat down on the bench at the foot of her bed, going through them.

"Whitesnake, AC/DC, Aerosmith—Deep Purple! I didn't know you liked this kind of music," John chuckled.

"Dad used to play it all the time when I was growing up," Rose shrugged, smiling.

"I'll bet," John chuckled. "I remember your favourite song when you were five was 'Black Night' by Deep Purple. _Very_ weird for a little girl."

"I don't remember that," Rose smiled. John laughed.

"You even had your own little rock-star leather jacket," he grinned. "I think it might've belonged to Sean originally." Rose laughed, flushing. She couldn't imagine Sean handing down something as precious to a biker as his leather jacket. John tutted softly and put the CDs back, and paused when he caught sight of a photograph of Rose with her parents before her sophomore homecoming-dance, when she had been crowned Princess on the Homecoming Court.

"I am gonna _miss your dad_," John said, and he sounded kind of choked up. Rose looked down at her notebook, the feeling Finn gave her leaving her body quickly as sorrow laced every cell of her body. "He was the one, you know, who got me into rock music."

"I can believe that," Rose smiled. John chuckled.

"Yup. We went to every single concert in college together. Aerosmith, AC/DC, Mötley Crüe, Guns N' Roses, Whitesnake—we even had our own sets of spandex," John laughed, and Rose wrinkled her nose in amusement.

"I can't—and don't really want to—imagine my dad in spandex," she laughed softly. John laughed too.

"It was only for very special occasions," John said. "We'd get our hair permed specially for concerts, too." Rose burst out laughing.

"_You_ had a perm?" she asked incredulously.

"Well, no, I had a mullet," John said, shaking his head at the ghosts of haircuts past. "Your dad, _he_ had permed hair. It was bigger than _Regina's_ was back in the Eighties. Her and your mom had _huge_ hair back then." Rose laughed, and John's eyes lit up. "Actually, I think Regina and I still have a ton of pictures from college." He glanced at her. "I'll try and find 'em, if you want." Rose smiled, liking the idea of seeing what her parents had looked like in college.

"I'd like that," Rose smiled. "How did you and my daddy first meet?"

"The first day I met him?" John repeated, and then laughed, shaking his head. "He was on a date with Regina," John said, and Rose glanced up, shocked. He laughed. "Your dad never told you about that?"

"No, he didn't."

"It was right at the start of our freshman year at college," John grinned. "He and Regina were on their first date, and she ended up coming home with _me_."

"I take it the date didn't go so well," Rose smirked.

"_No_," John laughed. "And the next time I saw your dad, he gave me a fat lip."

"So how come you got to be such great friends?" Rose asked. John's smile was soft and reminiscent.

"I dragged Regina and your mom to a party," he said, his smile widening till it was a grin. "Your dad was there, I introduced him to Lil, and all was forgiven. And here we are. Regina and me, and your parents—we've all been married twenty-five years." Rose smiled, and shook her head. That sounded like her dad. Her smile saddened, and hope and something else blossomed in her chest, the same feeling Finn gave her when he kissed her, and looked at her _that way_, the way Pearl said he looked at her, like she was the only girl in the universe.

"I want something like that," she said softly, and it was true. She didn't care about college or a career. She had always thought she had been born in the wrong century; she should have been married off at sixteen to someone who loved her unrestrainedly and had ten children. All she wanted out of life was people who loved her without boundaries.

John sighed. "And now here comes the reason for me being in your room."

"What's that?" Rose asked, flushing slightly.

"Well, Regina told me you're going to your first Baker High dance tomorrow, and there's rumours that Christian Todd's having his annual rager," John said. "And Regina wanted me to have a talk with you. I told her your dad had probably already taken care of that, but you know Regina enough to know you don't waste time arguing and you just do what she says; it's a lot easier."

Rose tried not to smirk. It seemed like only John was under that curse. Their sons certainly had no trouble going against her word or just ignoring it altogether.

"So…How's your guy situation going?" John asked.

"My _guy_ situation?" Rose asked.

"You know…crushes, dates…that sorta thing," John said, and Rose actually thought she detected a blush. She shrugged. _I KISSED FINN!_ Was she caught?

"Good," she said.

"I take it by that limited response, you don't really think it's any of my business," John said astutely. Rose blushed. John just smiled.

"Alright, listen up," John said heavily, sighing. "Dads are supposed to give you some fatherly and _wise_ advice at this time in your life." Rose flushed. Oh no. The Talk again. Her parents had never really sat her down and given her the Birds and Bees talk; they figured, with a male best-friend, she'd pretty much figure out a lot of stuff on her own before they even realised there might be a possibility she'd _need_ the Talk. They'd been right. And with a six-foot-eight best-friend who rode a Harley, her dad hadn't thought it very pressing that she receive warnings from him about the male species; he had figured Pogue knew all the guys at their school and would know who was worthy of her, and knew if someone hurt Rose, her dad would have to get in line behind Pogue with a baseball bat because he'd get to the guy first, and there wouldn't be that much left for him to work with after Pogue got through with him.

"Listen up," John sighed, frowning. Then he fixed her with a sharp look. "If you're wondering if a boy is thinking about you, he's not. He's thinking about sex, or he's hungry; those are the only two options." Rose couldn't help it; she laughed. John rolled his eyes and hid a grin.

"Are you trying to be funny?" Rose asked, smiling. John grinned.

"Hang on—I'm not finished," he said seriously, but there was a playful glint in his eyes not unlike the one Finn and Caleb and even Miller got sometimes. "Just listen to me—boys think about sex every single minute of the day. That's what they do—that is why they lie. They're gonna leave you waiting around for them to call and they won't call. They're gonna be cruel and they're gonna be misleading. And Regina wanted me to add this, that, by and large, popular high school athletes are the worst culprits for this behaviour, however, _I_ think it pretty much crosses all the lines."

Rose smiled at him, but beneath the smile she was thinking. John and Regina hadn't just opened their home to her. They had really taken to heart that their best-friends had left the last treasure they had in the world to them, to take care of, to watch out for, to love and to protect. Regina was worried she would be taken advantage of at a party, and John had come to her to warn her about high-school boys and how they treated girls. Her chest suddenly ached, and she really wanted her own daddy to be giving her these warnings, and looking at her like John was doing, as if she was some fragile, priceless gift that he never really wanted to let out of his sight. Rose knew John and Regina were her godparents, but up until this moment she had never known the true extent of their affection and love for her. She had always received a birthday card and present from them, no matter where in the world they were living; they had opened their home to her for months at a time when she was little, had hugged and kissed her better when she hurt herself or the boys bullied her or excluded her from games…

"How long have you been thinking about what to say to me?" Rose asked quietly, a tiny smile niggling at the corners of her lips.

"All week," John exhaled, and then chuckled. He fixed her with another of those looks again, the one that told her he was aware that she was someone else's most priceless treasure entrusted to him to protect, and the smile slowly slid of his face. "I just wanna add this one last thing, too." He sighed and exhaled. "You are beautiful, you are sweet, and you are very sensitive, and I don't wanna see you get hurt." Heat choked her throat and burned her eyes, but Rose managed a smile.

She blinked tears away. She had always loved John and Regina. They were like a second set of parents to her—parents who let her eat as many cookies as she wanted and as much soda as she wanted and stay up as long as she wanted and watch whatever she wanted on TV. John's smile was warm and soft, and he sighed and went to his feet, brushing his hands on his thighs the same way Finn did.

"Well…I think this has been sufficiently embarrassing enough for both of us, don't you think?" he asked, and Rose smiled.

"Daddy would have appreciated the sacrifice," Rose said quietly, and John nodded, smiling sadly.

"He would… Well, I'll let you get back to your homework," John said, smiling. "What're you working on?"

"Oh. An essay for English—_A Midsummer Night's Dream_," Rose said, glancing at her notebook.

"Ah; '_I am that merry wanderer of the night. I jest to Oberon and make him smile. When I a fat and bean-fed horse beguile, neighing in likeness of a filly foal. Sometimes lurk I in a gossip's bowl, in very likeness of a roasted crab. And when she drinks, against her lips I bob, and on her withered dewlaps pours the ale_,'" John said, and then grinned. "That was my favourite play. I was a Shakespearean Literature major at college."

"I didn't know you _could_ major in Shakespearean Literature," Rose said, interest flaring. She _loved_ Shakespeare.

"Oh, yeah," John grinned. "Well, I'll let you get back to it." He had almost reached the door when Rose made herself speak.

"John?" He paused, and glanced over his shoulder at her. She licked her lips nervously and flushed. "Thanks. For the talk, I mean."

"Yeah," John smiled, and he closed the door softly behind him.

* * *

Five minutes later, another knock on the door came and Finn re-entered the room, carrying his French grammar workbook, a notebook, and a pencil and eraser.

"You weren't kidding," Rose said, when he put his things down and came to grovel on his knees before her.

"I never joke about flunking out the year," Finn said, fluttering his eyelashes up at her. "_Please_ help me."

"Alright," Rose sighed, smiling. She grabbed her notebook and pen and sat down on her bed, where there was room enough for both her and Finn, patting the comforter beside her. He kicked off his boots and clambered onto the bed beside her, and caught her eye. His smile was slow and endearing and made her breath stop in its tracks. And then he kissed her again.

Rose laughed and gently pushed him away.

"Finn!"

"Sorry!" Finn blushed.

"No you're not," Rose said. Finn laughed.

"No, I'm not," he chuckled.

"Bon, devoirs de français," Rose said, tapping Finn's Grammar workbook.

"Are you having a seizure?" Finn asked. Rose shot him a look.

"Non, je parle français, espèce d'idiot," she said.

"Oh, I understood some of that—you called me an idiot, right?" Finn said, pouting as if she had mortally insulted him.

"Oui." She tapped his Grammar workbook. "Nous ferions mieux en finir, ou Monsieur Gilliard auront les tripes pour jarretières."

Yeah, okay, I didn't understand a word of _that_," Finn said, eyes widening. "So let's just say I'm screwed and leave it at that."

"Non! Je vais vous le tuteur; vous ne manquerez pas cette année," Rose said. "Ou si vous le faites, il ne sera pas ma faute de ne pas vous aider."

"You're making me feel stupid," Finn pouted, crossing his arms over his chest. "I don't like it."

"I'm sorry," Rose said softly, patting his hand; he curled his fingers around hers. She looked down at their joined hands and smiled. It felt nice. It felt…_right_, to sit here on her bed, holding Finn's hand. She felt flushed with heat and tingly, and wanted nothing more than to snuggle up with him under the covers. She swallowed hard, heart going on overdrive. She felt Finn tense beside her, his breath hitching.

_Holy sexual tension_, Rose thought. All she wanted to do was lay him out and have her way with him.

But Caleb was giggling like a lunatic in the hallway with his toy cars, and Ian was arguing with Evan, and Miller was listening to a game on his radio in his room, and John and Regina were watching a movie downstairs while they talked. She was acutely aware of where she was, and what position they were in. That Finn's parents had basically forbidden any kind of relationship with any one of their sons, and for good reason—to avoid any situation like this.

She cleared her throat awkwardly and patted his French Grammar workbook. "Pratiquez votre grammaire française." Finn glanced at her once more and sighed.

"Très bien," he sighed, grumbling, grabbing his workbook.

Fifteen minutes later, he launched the grammar workbook across the room and ran his hands through his hair, half-yelling in frustration.

"That's the most animated I've ever seen you," Rose said, observing him. She hadn't yet seen Finn lose his cool; besides Sean, he was probably the most mellow brother in the family. "I wouldn't have thought you'd lose your head over conjugating the infinitive."

"Conjugal what?" Finn smirked, eyeing her up like she was covered head to toe in Cool Whip and maraschino cherries.

"Your dad wore spandex in the eighties," Rose replied dryly. _That_ wiped the look off Finn's face faster than Pogue could tear down Main Street on his Harley. He looked like he might be sick.

Rose laughed softly and grabbed a stack of unused flashcards from her desk. She spent the next few minutes making the same kind of flashcards she used to make for Pogue when he was having trouble with his Spanish homework.

"You missed Supernatural today," Finn said, when they had finished drilling correct verb tenses into him, and he was filling in his grammar workbook. He glanced up and licked his lips slowly. Rose watched his tongue dab across his lower-lip and felt a rush of heat through her body, and tingles made her feel hyper-sensitive. "I was kinda looking forward to watching it with you."

"You a scaredy-cat?" Rose teased breathlessly.

"_No_," Finn said, with an easy grin, though colour flushed into his cheeks. "I just wanted to watch it with you." Rose smiled shyly and blushed.

"I'd like that."

"Hey, uh…are you coming to my game tomorrow?"

"Your game? What game?" Rose asked, smiling.

"First football game of the season is tomorrow night," he said, blushing. "Kinda hoped you'd be there."

"You want me to be your personal little cheerleader or something?" Rose asked, laughing; Finn blushed again. "Wear a tiny little shirt and nonexistent skirt?"

"Well, I wasn't going to say anything, but if you're offering," Finn grinned. Rose laughed.

"Alright."

"Alright you'll be there, or alright you'll wear the sexy cheerleader outfit?" Finn asked. Rose slapped his chest playfully and laughed.

"You know, you're worse than Pogue," Rose laughed, shaking her head. Finn just pouted a smirk and fluttered his eyelashes. She liked him most when he was in this mood; flirty. She didn't feel so bashful or shy when he was in this mood; _she_ felt flirtatious and full of confidence.

* * *

**A.N.**: Besides Finn, I think Miller might probably be my favourite McGowan boy. Or Sean, since he has a Harley—my definition of a _real_ motorcycle.


	19. Fullback

**A.N.**: Okay, I know a few of you were looking forward to the football game, so here it is! Please review.

* * *

**Rose Amongst Thorns**

Chapter Nineteen

_Fullback_

* * *

Friday was an okay day; Monsieur Gilliard prompted a little argument with her during French because apparently she was confusing the other kids, working ahead of the class skill-level, and most of her math problems were incorrect when they went over their homework, but Mr Sears used her essay on Roanoke Colony theories as an example in History during class for future essays, which gave her a happy buzz for the rest of the day, which rendered the blows Hailey dealt her during training a little less painful.

After practice, Evan gave her a ride back to the McGowans'. The McGowans were exhibiting what Rose's dad would have called 'pre-weekend hysteria'—hyperactivity brought on by the fact that it was nearly the weekend. They were everywhere, _loud_, hyperactive on candy and snacks and Gatorade, and watching TV on full-blast downstairs and having a random water-fight in the backyard with the garden-hose. Rose stuck her head out of the kitchen door, avoiding the spray of the garden-hose. Ian and Caleb were running around with the garden-hose and a bucket full of water.

"Ian, your coach called and told me your suspension from ice-hockey due to excessive force has been lifted so, tomorrow, you're going to practice," Regina shouted, hanging up the phone, and Ian cheered outside. "Caleb, you have show-and-tell on Monday, so I expect you to be thinking about what you're going to take into school; please, honey, remember that body-parts and anything belonging to me or Rose _does not count_."

Caleb grinned and giggled, launching the whole bucket of water at Ian, and Rose shook her head as the doorbell rang; the girls were on the porch, trying not to smile too widely about being on the threshold of the McGowan house. Rose had just opened her mouth to say hi when a huge "_Ow_!" echoed down in the basement.

"Now what?" Regina groaned, as thumping footsteps echoed off the basement stairwell. Evan emerged, half-dragging Miller behind him, who was bleeding from the forehead.

"Doug hit Miller with a dart!"

"On purpose?" Rose asked, as Regina looked like she was praying to whatever gods existed for patience.

"Go grab the band-aids from the medicine cabinet upstairs," Rose told Evan, and he nodded and ran upstairs.

"It's like they all put E in their breakfast cereal this morning or something," Regina said weakly, and Rose laughed. "Seriously—how did you get my boys to behave last night?"

"Fear," Rose said honestly. She wasn't much, but when she was angry she could clear a room faster than anything. Regina laughed.

"_Mom_!" The kitchen door burst open and Sean emerged, grease-stained and shirtless. "Ian put a bucket on Caleb's head and now it's stuck."

"Hey, Doug, wanna play darts?" Evan shouted down the basement stairs.

"No-one's throwing any more darts around this house—Miller, come here, baby," Regina said, as Rose opened the first-aid kit; they patched Miller up and retrieved Caleb, who was bouncing off the walls—in every sense—with a bright-blue bucket stuck on his head; they managed to grease him up with cooking oil and wrenched him out of the bucket, and since he was already soaking wet just hosed the oil off him out in the backyard and sent him on his way. Finn and Sean joined the water-fight with contraband pump-action jet water-guns and Ian and Caleb's screams filled the neighbourhood. By the time John got home with Thai takeout, the big boys were in danger of being turned into the little ones' meals, as they were ravenous and had finished the water-fight by biting both Sean and Finn.

* * *

"Soda, Rose?" John asked.

"No, thank you," Rose smiled, "I'm good with my water, thanks." John refilled the boys' cups with full-fat, full-caffeine, extra-sugar soda and as Rose sat down at the packed kitchen table, Finn passed her the container of pad Thai noodles; their fingertips brushed against each other and Rose's entire body responded with a network of mini fireworks going off.

"So, what's everyone doing tonight after the game?" Regina asked, tucking her skirt under herself as she sat down next to her husband. At the end of the table, Caleb and Ian were fighting over the spring rolls, and Doug was shovelling down food with his head bent down toward his plate with the relish of a man consuming his last meal. Sean leaned back in his chair, blindly twiddling noodles around his fork and lifting them to his mouth while he read from a new paperback novel. Rose helped herself to pad Thai noodles, Thai curry, satay skewers, fried spring rolls, stuffed chicken wings, dumplings, garlic-fried shrimp and sweet-and-sour duck. She was remembered of her favourite Thai Thai takeout restaurant in Raleigh, and how she and Pogue used to fight over the last dumpling, and how they never got enough peanut sauce.

"Party," Doug said, noodles dripping from his lips as he lifted his head.

"Nice. Napkin, please," Regina said. Doug rolled his eyes as he handed him a napkin from across the table, never looking up from his book.

"Whose party?" John asked.

"It's Christian's," Evan said. "You know, he has it every year."

"Ah, yes, Christian Todd's party," John grinned lazily. "How could we have forgotten it's that time of year already. Wasn't it broken up by the police last year/"

"Yeah, but it's gonna be a lot smaller," Evan said. "He's only inviting seniors and juniors."

"Then why is Doug going?" Regina asked. Everyone looked down the table at Doug, who paused in his shovelling long enough to say, "I got connections." Regina arched an eyebrow.

"Mm. So, you're going to this party too, Rose," she said. "How're you getting there after the game?"

"Can we ride in your truck, Rose?" Caleb asked, from the other end of the table. "Like we did when we went to Jim's?"

"Maybe," Rose smiled. "Well, I was going to maybe get a ride with Jenna, but I guess it'd be easier for me to help drive everyone over to school."

"Well, we were going to ask Evan," John said.

"Yeah," Evan said. "I'll show you the way to Christian Todd's house, Rose," Evan said, giving her a friendly smiling.

"Okay, so, Rose, I guess we'll have to give _you_ a mini-lecture about driving and parties," John said, heaving a sigh as he loosened his belt buckle onto another notch and helped himself to more pad Thai.

"Don't worry," Rose said quietly. "If anyone understands the consequences of drinking and driving, it's me." John and Regina exchanged a loaded look that Rose did not miss.

"Well, okay; drive safe tonight, then," John said easily. "Finn, are you going to this thing?"

"Yeah," Finn shrugged. "I, uh…kinda have a date." Rose glanced up, her forkful of Thai curry turning into an unappetising lump in her mouth.

"You do?" she asked, blinking at him, and wondering why she felt like something was hacking her heart into pieces with a dull blade, burning like ice.

"Yeah…uh…"

"Dude, you got another date with Kayla Bird?" Evan crowed.

"Apparently," Finn flushed, carefully avoiding Rose's eyes.

"It's about freakin' time, man!" Evan said gleefully. "What made you finally grow the balls to ask her out, anyway?" Finn shrugged and flushed.

"I told him to," Rose said coolly, suddenly not that interested in her dinner.

"Okay, so you didn't so much grow balls as _ovaries_," Evan said thoughtfully, which made Doug snort with laughter and spray rice all over Sean. Looking disgruntled, but never taking his eyes off his book, Sean wiped his face and shirt and tossed the used napkin into the open trashcan behind him over his shoulder, slam-dunk. Jenna had been impressed with _Finn's_ level of concentration, but Sean was something else entirely.

Rose trained her focus on her dinner so she didn't look at Finn with her Harpy glare—the one that reduced six-foot-eight, biker Pogue to a blubbering mess dependent on Ben & Jerry's and his mommy.

So Finn had another date with Kayla. Even though he'd thought their first date a catastrophe and he'd ended his date-night making out with _her_, Rose, in his shed, the most private place he had to himself, the place he never let anyone visit, looking at artwork he never showed anybody else.

_Why're you so upset by this? You're not his girlfriend_, a little voice said, speaking reason in the back of her mind. Reason she _hated_ to admit was true. She wasn't Finn's girlfriend, she wasn't his _anything_. They'd kissed a few times and had a few amazing talks, but they couldn't cuddle up under a blanket at a football game, or make-out at parties, or even hold hands during school.

So why did she suddenly want to poison Kayla Bird with super-super-hot garlic-oil sauce till she burned up from the inside out? Or maybe she could just run her over—her truck was one of those solid, all-American monsters that left foreign imports in shrapnel down the highway, the licence-plate cover barely damaged. She knew—it had happened, when her dad used to drive the truck. Some stupid kid had decided to overtake and hadn't estimated how fast her dad was going, cut in front and caused a horrendous accident; the guy hadn't died, but as far as she knew, he hadn't gotten back in the driver's seat again. She could 'waste' Kayla Bird, in Dean Winchester lingo, without leaving any evidence on her truck…but then, Finn might never forgive her, and she'd spent twenty-to-life agonising about the fact that Finn hated her for killing his quasi-girlfriend.

_What are you, Bella Swan? Man up, girl_! she heard Pogue encouraging. He was right. She wasn't some swooning, love-struck girl with a warped sense of self-preservation and a complete lack of self-confidence. She was shy, but she knew who she was despite B.S. from other people. This wasn't going to make her upset or angry…not even a teeny, tiny, little bit.

She ate slowly after that, avoiding any kind of contact with Finn, and devoted her time to the shoulder-slumping thought that tonight she was going to be designated driver _and_ she would have to see Finn with another girl. So she couldn't spend time with Finn at this party and she couldn't drink too much, so what was she going to _do_? Stay at home on a Friday night and knit?

_That sounds pretty good right about now_, she thought, showering quickly after dinner and brushing her teeth meticulously. She towelled herself dry, wrapped up her hair, pulled on her robe and tiptoed across the hallway to her room. She shut the door quickly and locked it when she heard Finn saying, "Hey," at the threshold of his room.

Rose sighed heavily and went to her closet, frowning at Caleb when he froze, hands clamped around a packet of Fruit Gushers, eyes wide at being caught, hiding amongst her clothes in the closet. She expelled him from the room and locked the door again. She plucked the outfit she had put together from her closet and laid it out on the bed, putting her stereo on, listening to Kiss while she blow-dried her hair and put on her makeup. She put product in her hair to make it all soft and beachy, leaving it down in subtly wavy, slightly tousled locks around her shoulders, and a slightly off-centre parting. She created smoky eyes with nude and brown eyeshadow and a lashing of mascara, and put on a lick of natural lip-gloss. She dabbed her expensive Serge Lutens 'Bois de Violette' perfume at her wrists, behind her ears and at base of her throat.

She dressed in her favourite black 'Love' Agent Provocateur bra, the little black 'Lacey' thong from Victoria's Secret, the almost see-through black cotton t-shirt she loved, a pair of second-skin dark jeggings, a pair of studded sandals, and the embellished vest with faux-pearls, sequins, studs and beaded fringe she had bought earlier in the week at the mall. She grabbed her littlest purse and stowed her truck-keys, lip-gloss and her cell-phone inside, tucking her school I.D., insurance card and ATM-card and cash in one of the little zipper pouches, making sure she still had the emergency condom in the other.

Caleb and Ian were waiting downstairs, decked out in Baker High memorabilia stuff; John and Regina were trying to coerce Doug to pull his pants up so they _couldn't_ see his underwear; Miller was sitting at the bottom of the stairs reading a book on Babe Ruth that she knew was for an English research assignment; Sean was shrugging on his leather biker jacket. Rose guessed football games were a family ordeal if one of the brothers was playing.

"Hey! You look great!" Regina grinned, taking in her outfit. "Very rock-chick of you. Caleb, Ian; are you two going in the truck with Rose?"

"Yeah!"

"Okay, well," John said, digging his battered wallet out of his pocket. "Rose, here you go; in case we get split up, here's money for your tickets."

"Oh, no, that's okay, I—"

"I insist," John said, pressing the cash into Rose's hand. "We'll all try and meet up once we get inside, okay."

"Okay," Rose nodded.

"And here," John added, pressing another few notes into her hand. "For snacks."

"Thanks," Rose flushed. John winked.

"Alright—let's haul ass, kids," he said, and Regina chided him for his language; Ian and Caleb ran for the truck, scrambling into the front-seat, while Miller, Doug and Sean piled into John's car.

"Where are the others?" Rose asked.

"Finn already left," Ian said. "Evan's probably still looking in the mirror." Rose rolled her eyes in amusement at Ian's succinct observations of his second-oldest brother, sure enough Evan came running out of the house, still running a hand through his hair; he vaulted into the bed of the truck, and Rose pulled out of the property, following John's Mercedes.

Though nothing compared to the turnout for high-school basketball games in her old hometown, the number of people crowding into the parking lots and trickling towards the ticket-booth like ants to their queen was enough that she and John did get separated, following him to Baker High. She parked in the junior parking-lot and made Caleb hold her hand so he didn't run around like a lunatic in the parking-lot or worse, run off completely; Ian kept close by, holding Caleb's other hand, and they made their way to the ticket-booth; she got a discount because she was a student and paid for their tickets, and hoisted Caleb onto her hip so he didn't get buffeted by the people swarming around. Her cell-phone buzzed, and John was calling her from over by the snack-bar; they all met up; Doug had already disappeared and Evan was talking to a cute-looking girl behind the snack-bar counter Regina whispered used to be his sweetheart in his freshman year of high-school. Sean was reading. John bought them all sodas and candies and nachos, and they made their way to the bleachers.

The football team, in their gold-on-maroon uniforms, was warming up on the pitch, the visiting opposing team doing the same on their side of the field; cheerleaders were already trying to encourage high spirits with little cheers in their gold-trimmed maroon uniforms, undermining every feminist who ever lived with their pointless prancing around.

Evan had disappeared shortly after they left the snack-bar; Rose saw him knuckle-knocking and laughing with his friends down by the cluster of cheerleaders flirting with him, and Rose had to shake her head and sigh in stifled exasperation. If Hailey was worried about their relationship, and Evan was supposedly sensitive to her paranoia, then why the hell was he down there flirting with those light-skirts?

"So, what number is Finn?" Rose asked, scanning the jersey numbers as the boys practiced their stretching, backs to them, giving her a very good view.

"Number twenty-seven," Regina said. "He's the fullback, whatever that means."

"I think it means he hits a lot of people," Rose said, scouting for number twenty-seven. She had seen Friday Night Lights the TV series; she knew Tim Riggins was the fullback, and wondered why artistic Finn had the most violent position on the team. Regina laughed.

"Yeah, that about sums it up," she chuckled, offering Rose the tray of nachos smothered in cheese and jalapeños. "So…did _you_ know Finn had another date with Kayla Bird?"

"No," Rose said, careful not to get nacho cheese on her jeggings. "No, I didn't know that."

"He didn't tell you?" Regina asked, eyebrows flying up. "You two talk all the time, I wonder why…"

"Me too," Rose said honestly, though she had a pretty good idea. He hadn't wanted to let on that he was still dating another girl while making out with her. _Bastard_… Well, that wasn't entirely fair. She was just as much to blame for sneaking around the McGowans' house, kissing. But she had thought Finn and Kayla Bird were over. Like, no-more-dates over.

She tried not to dwell on the aching, searing feeling in her chest, like she was suffering from severe heartburn.

It was very evident the McGowans were one hugely popular family. Until the national anthem was sung by the best singer in the school choir, there was no end of people coming up to John and Regina for a chat, to talk about anything, which of their sons were playing, how much the 'little guy' had grown—why Sean hadn't gone off to college was apparently a sore subject, because despite the curious looks from the McGowans' friends, seeing him sitting there, reading till the start of the game, nobody mentioned it. Rose received more curious looks from the students than she ever had _at_ school because she was sitting between Regina and Miller, with Sean sitting beside him.

Despite the chaos surrounding him, Miller sat defiantly straight-backed, his eyes focused on the football field instead of his feet. He caught Rose's eye from time to time, and they shared his soda and nachos, and her soda and her candy, and used their fact-question game to get him a little more relaxed about being in the centre of the disorganised bleachers.

When the commentator announced the beginning of the game would commence after the choir had sung the national anthem, everyone in the stadium stood, placed their hands over their hearts, and sang. This, _this_, was the same no matter what high-school game Rose went to. Standing with a united crowd, singing their national anthem, pledging their allegiance. Caleb got the words wrong; Ian tripped down a few steps of the bleachers, returning from the snack-bar with a fresh soda and an Airheads candy, and Sean had to dive to grab him when his yell echoed through the bleachers, making most of the people who saw it happen laugh; Sean returned Ian to his seat and the game began.

John had to explain to Regina and Rose the rules of the game of American football, because Regina was allergic to sports and Rose was a basketball girl. Sean had put away his book and, even if he wasn't the loudest supporter in the bleachers, he was the most attentive. Despite her resolution not to think about Finn, because he obviously didn't think much of her, Rose couldn't stop keeping track of number twenty-seven's whereabouts. Neither could the commentator; it seemed Finn was his favourite player; everyone applauded 'Fearless Finn' McGowan for his spectacular hits that crippled the other team, preventing any kind of offensive plays because Baker defence was so good, and dependent on Finn during the offence.

Rose had thought Finn a slighter guy in build compared to his older brothers, but that boy was an armoured tank on the football field. If he went after a guy, that player went down—hard. And Finn was fast. Those long legs of his ate up the astro-turf. And Rose could not stop staring at his butt in those shiny pants.

Baker High steam-rollered their way to victory in their first varsity football game, the final score 72-14. And it was all because of Finn and his superior tackling skills; he had blocked like the most ferocious, protective bulldog there was. Forget wildcats, when Finn was on the playing-field he was a pit-bull. He didn't let _anyone_ past him, or get to his teammates. The final minutes of the game were dominated by another killer full-contact tackle from Finn, and another touchdown for Baker High.

Ian and Caleb had obviously overdosed on high-sugar sodas and candy from the snack-bar, and compounded by a decisive victory, saw them doing a sugar-induced Baker High victory-dance like two miniature lunatics. Miller caught Rose's eye and smiled. Although he had sat by Regina all game, he had sat with his back straight, chin up, and had watched the game instead of staring at his feet.

"Alright, are you and Evan off now?" Regina asked, while John tried to calm the boys down, failing dismally; Sean hoisted Caleb onto his shoulders and carried him off, tailed by Ian.

"Yeah, uh, if I can find him," Rose said, glancing around the bleachers.

"Hey, Rose," someone said, directly behind her, and Evan grinned at her, eyes sparkling. "Ready to go?"

"Yeah."

* * *

She parked her truck behind a dozen others outside the front yard of Christian Todd's tremendous stone mansion. Since the moment Evan had sat down in the truck-cab next to her, he had been silent—and coldly so. She had been forced to put on a Rammstein CD to cover the awkward, cool silence between them, the silence she really didn't want to breach because she had no idea what was making him act this way.

And she couldn't stop thinking about Finn. About Finn, with Kayla. About why Finn hadn't thought it her business to tell her he was going on another date with Kayla when he had told her he hadn't thought anything would come of their date. She wanted to know which of the brothers was worse—Evan, for being an uncontrollable flirt and realising what he was, or Finn, for leading girls on and then dumping them on their asses when the next one presented herself. It was harsh, but that was what she was feeling as she cut the engine and turned off the lights. For a second, there was silence; Evan didn't move to leave the truck. Then a few people breezed by the car, talking and laughing. Evan unhooked his seatbelt, sighed heavily, and turned toward her.

"I know this is going to sound lame, but I don't think we should walk in there together," Evan said.

"Come again?" Rose asked, nonplussed.

"Okay, look," Evan said, clearing his throat awkwardly. "It's like this; Hailey's been kind of freaking out the past few days and it's sort of all about you."

"You're blaming your relationship problems on _me_?" Rose stared, disbelieving. _I don't believe this family_, she thought, incredulous. Caleb and Miller were probably the only two sane boys in the whole family. Maybe Sean, too, but he didn't speak enough for her to make heads or tails of him.

"No!" Evan said quickly. "No, I mean—here's the thing; Hailey and I have been together for a year and you'd think that would be long enough for her to, you know, trust me, but ever since you got here, she's been acting like I'm public enemy number one."

"I don't see _you_ decorated with cuts and bruises," Rose said coolly. _She_ was the one Hailey took everything out on during cross-country training. _She_ was the one tended by Miss Smith and her first-aid kit _every_ _single_ afternoon. _She_ was the one who everyone gossiped about because she'd set Hailey Farmer, Queen Bitch, in her place.

"Look, okay Hailey's… She's used to being the best at everything, okay; best athlete, most popular, most beautiful. Now you've shown up and you're super talented with cross-country, and everyone loves you 'cause your so sweet, and you really are probably the most beautiful girl I've ever seen, so—like you said; Hailey has self-confidence issues now that you've showed up here and shown _her_ up."

So Hailey was spoilt, and now she was throwing her dolls out of her stroller.

"So now you're blaming your girlfriend's neuroses on me?" Rose blurted, stunned. She couldn't help if Hailey got off being the prettiest, most popular, most talented. But, facts of life, you can't always be the best at everything. Rose was a good runner, but she was at a kindergartner's skill-level in math. And she was pretty? She had a nose, mouth and two eyes the same as everyone.

"Look, I know none of it's your fault," Evan said, sighing. "I just think it's pushed her over the edge, you know, you being here, and I think it'd be better for everyone if we didn't…I mean, if there wasn't a scene tonight."

"Perhaps you should've been thinking about that while you were flirting with those light-skirts at the game," Rose said, frowning.

"Light-skirts? What the hell're—?"

"Don't cuss," Rose said, frowning. She hated when people cussed. "Light-skirts are girls who don't need much coercing to lift their skirts up." I.e. Jane Austen for complete whores. Evan had shame enough to blush.

"Well, whatever, I just don't want there to be a huge scandal between you, me and Hailey because we just happened to walk in there together," he said. Rose shrugged, and gestured at the front-door.

"Well, go on, then," she said. She didn't have the patience to conceal her annoyance at these McGowan boys this evening. She just wanted to find Aimee and have shot of oestrogen before she had to go back into that asylum for idiotic, selfish teenage boys. She was surprised there weren't more inmates.

Evan stared at her, as if he hadn't expected her to act so brusquely. Well, she was tired of getting the short end of the McGowan stick. Then he kind of shook his head a little, maybe in disbelief or whatever, opened his door and hopped out of the truck. Rose sighed and shook her head after he'd slammed the door, and watched him walking with his shoulders hunched and his hands in the pockets of his suede car-jacket. She leaned her elbow against the ridge of the window and sighed again.

What was with these McGowan boys? Had Regina dropped them on their heads one too many times when they were kids? Could that explain their temperamental selfishness? She plucked her lip-gloss out of her bag and flipped her visor down, with the Velcro CD-holder and mirror she had attached to it, and meticulously, slowly, applied her lip-gloss. She saw amber light flood the front-lawn as Evan entered the house, and then it went dark again.

She wished Pogue was here.

There was nothing worse than flying solo at the biggest party of the year.

* * *

**A.N.**: I was having nostalgic memories of my sophomore year of high school in California (the last year I spent in the US before my family moved back to England…) Please review.


	20. Party

**A.N.**: I just thought, given the description of her, Kayla Bird might look something like Minka Kelly from _Friday Night Lights_.

* * *

**Rose Amongst Thorns**

Chapter Twenty

_Party_

* * *

"Oh my god! Tessa! You came!"

Rose crossed the threshold into the enormous teenager-strewn foyer, hit at first by a sound-wall comprised of seriously loud fast-paced pop and R&B and some rock music, teenagers' loudly laughter, and shouted conversations.

And then a girl threw her arms around her, enveloping Rose in an entirely too-tight hug that almost unbalanced her because the girl was _clearly_ already drunk. She stank of musky perfume and one of her crunchy permed curls flew directly into Rose's mouth. It tasted sour. Rose plucked it out of her mouth and grimaced. A few guys coming down the stairs saw and laughed.

"I knew you'd come!" the girl shouted tipsily in Rose's ear. Half the beer in her cup slopped over the rim and hit the floor behind Rose, splashing her feet. "So you forgive me, right? 'Cause I swear I didn't _mean_ to kiss him. I just, y'know…slipped!"

"Er…I don't think I'm who you're looking for," Rose said, gently pushing the girl away. The girl frowned at her.

"Who the hell are _you_?" she asked, now realising Rose wasn't this Tessa girl whose boyfriend she definitely hadn't 'accidentally' kissed. Kisses weren't accidental.

"Rose," she said quietly. She glanced at the cup in the girl's hand. "Where's the keg?"

"Kitchen!" the girl said brightly, and teetered off to someone else. Rose slid sideways out of the foyer and headed into the room on her left, figuring she'd find the kitchen on her own. The party was raging in this room, the furniture all pushed to the edges of the room. Unfamiliar faces surrounded her, laughing, singing to the music, shouting to each other across the room. A group of guys checked her up and down and consulted. Apparently she scored high on their ratings scale, because one of them lifted his chin and made a move to come over and talk to her. Not in the mood, Rose nevertheless shot him a slow smile and slid out of the nearest available door.

In the next room, four games of Jenga were being played simultaneously on a purple-felt-topped pool table. At least twenty people were gathered around, watching the action. There was a game of Dance Dance Revolution going on in the other end of the room, and some of the guys watching the girls have a dance-off were cheering them on and also consulting the other games available, wanting a Guitar Hero war. Rose paused as a scrawny guy with clammy skin made his move at the nearest Jenga tower. The tower teetered for a long moment, then toppled over, spraying blocks everywhere. The crowd cheered and groaned and pointed. The kid nodded and lifted a hand, then took a beer from his friend and chugged it in three gulps.

"Rose! Hi!"

Finn. He emerged from the crowd, grinning. His wavy hair was tousled and he was wearing a burgundy baseball t-shirt with heather grey sleeves. She didn't want to know _who_ had tousled his hair like that. But her eyes widened at the sight of him. He had made so many tackles and taken so many hits himself on the football field with uncomplaining strength and she hadn't thought he'd look so…gorgeous. He had cuts and grazes on his face, and his forearm was bandaged, minor grazes and cuts on his arms, marks on the left side of his neck where someone had clawed at him with their fingernails. They had already scabbed over and looked quite painful, still raw around the edges.

She was going to be sweet to him. She wasn't going to hold it against him that he had a second date with the girl he'd had a _thing_ for, no matter how he'd jerked her around waiting for it. Plus, he really did look like he'd taken a beating. He broke away from the crowd and looped an arm around her shoulders, hugging her. He smelt of _clean_, fresh, warm laundry and paint.

"Hi," she said quietly, flicking her eyes over his injuries. Well, now she knew not even a whole varsity football team had anything on Hailey Farmer when she was on a terror.

"Wow," Finn smiled, stepping back to sweep his eyes over her, taking time to examine her face and her hair. He looked at her as if it was the first time he'd ever seen her. That same look he _always_ gave her, the one that made her heart jump into her throat. "You look…wow."

"Thanks," Rose said quietly, blushing.

Finn took a sip from his cup, his eyes betraying a melange of emotions he didn't quite seem able to put into words. "So, where's Evan?"

"Avoiding conflict by avoiding me," Rose said, shouting the last bit when the Jenga crowd cheered and groaned at another toppled tower. Finn frowned.

"What? Why? What's happened?" he asked. Rose waved a hand tiredly. She had never been a part of politics at her old high-school; it seemed like, here, she had been flung right into the Houses of Congress.

"Oh, nothing, yet. It's pre-emptive," Rose sighed, taking the cup from Finn's hand and taking a large sip, handing it back. "He's afraid I'll screw up his relationship with Hailey just by standing near him."

"Why would he think that?" Finn asked, looking genuinely surprised.

"I don't know. You've met Hailey," Rose shrugged sadly. She had been looking forward to this party. Now that she was here, now that Evan had blamed her for everything that had gone wrong with his girlfriend the last two weeks, now that Finn had kissed her and made her feel secure about that horrid scar on her back, now that he was on another date with the girl he'd told her he was disillusioned with…now that she was here, alone, and with no escape from these boys at home…she just wanted to get back in her truck, drive home, curl up with a bowl of ice-cream and watch a movie or read her book.

"Rose," Finn said softly, his expression going stark and guilt-ridden, and he moved closer to her, putting a hand on her waist. She had to look through her lashes up at him. "Can we…talk?" Rose blinked a few times and flushed, looking away.

"Talk about what, Finn?" she asked quietly, backing away. She licked her lips and folded her arms across her chest defensively. He couldn't do that, he couldn't just turn on the charm again like…like he really, actually liked her, and not just because his quasi-girlfriend wasn't in the same room.

Except she was. Kayla Bird, tall and beautiful and flawlessly olive-skinned, came sauntering over in those tall boots of hers and a floaty, glitzy silver top that belonged in the 30s or something, her hair arranged as if she was a silver-screen siren from 30s-era Hollywood, and she was wearing a cerise-red lipstick that made her teeth glow white. Everything about this girl said she was elegant and otherworldly.

"Hi," Rose said softly, glancing from Kayla to Finn and back. _Awkward_… Seeing that Finn looked like a deer in the headlights, Rose smiled at Kayla. "You must be Kayla."

"I am," she smiled. "You must be Rose. I've heard a lot about you."

"You too," Rose said, smiling. "Well…I don't have a drink, so I'm going to go and find the—_argh_!" She squealed as someone clamped a strong arm around her waist and spun her around and hauled her over their shoulder, which was decorated with patches. Her brain temporarily froze as she was carried from the room, Finn and Kayla looking as stunned as she felt.

"You're coming with me, Tequila Queen! I need my beer-pong partner!" someone slurred. Rose tried to read the name on the back of the letterman jacket upside-down.

"Darnell?" she asked, being carried backwards over his shoulder into the noisy kitchen.

"The one and only!" Darnell chuckled, setting her unsteadily on her feet; Rose's cheeks were burning with embarrassment, and she glanced around uneasily. The kitchen was crowded and filled with food, kegs, blenders full of margarita mix and ice, tubs filled with ice and bottles and cans of beer and other alcohol, bottles lined the island, and the kitchen-table had been cleared of snacks to make way for the beer-pong championship. There was a mid-sized crowd observing Jake Salvatore and some other guy from the football team battling it out with their beer cups and a ping-pong ball.

"Come on, I'll get you a drink before it's our turn," Darnell grinned charmingly. "You look like you could use one."

"Thanks," Rose said, shuffling over to the island for a drink. She wasn't in the mood for beer; it made her emotional. Tequila sounded okay. That's what Darnell went for; when he'd said 'drink,' he meant shots. And he had dubbed Rose the Tequila Queen when she'd done tequila shots the real way, with salt and limes. There was none of that stuff here, so they just toasted their plastic shot-glasses and knocked a few back; Rose coughed and reached to pour herself a crushed margarita from the blender.

"So, you were mad-dogging my fullback," Darnell accused playfully, handing her another drink when she had finished her margarita, still waiting for their turn at beer-pong. Rose sipped her beer and watched the game going on at the kitchen table.

"I wasn't."

"That's a shame, 'cause he was mad-dogging you for, like, five minutes before you saw him," Darnell said, slurring, as he drained another beer. Rose glanced at him. He looked so earnest.

"You're teasing me," she said, smiling.

"I am not!" Darnell belted out a laugh. "I mean, why _wouldn't_ he be staring at you?" Rose shrugged and drank some of her beer, avoiding Darnell's all too knowing eyes. She and Darnell played in a beer-pong tournament and downed a couple of drinks before Rose slipped away, leaving Darnell, who got drunker and drunker by the minute, to the care of his buddies. She glimpsed Finn in the first room again, talking to a few of his friends, saw Kayla with him, her hand on his hip as they stood close together, and something slipped in her chest, and a wave of something crippling washed over her.

Kayla glanced over her shoulder at that moment, saw Rose, smirked triumphantly, and turned back to Finn, cajoling and teasing him.

Rose felt that smirk like a slap in the face.

"Rose! There you are!" Ria and Aimee had emerged from a crowd, she didn't know where, grinning and holding full cups of beer. They already looked as tipsy as Rose felt and decidedly happier.

"Oh my god! You look amazing, all biker-chicky glamorous!" Aimee grinned, slinging an arm around her neck in a hug.

"What is Finn doing with _her_?" Ria said venomously, glowering over at Finn, who stood with Kayla.

"Apparently they have another date," Rose said sadly, observing the level of her beer, and wondering whether she could go and get a refill. Ria and Aimee both frowned and exchanged a loaded look.

"I thought he'd moved on," Ria said. Rose shrugged.

"I guess not," she said miserably.

"Okay, grumpy girl, you look like you need to dance!" Aimee said. "Come on! We're all dancing out back!" Aimee grabbed her hand and tugged. Rose tried to smile and followed the girls to the back porch, which was fenced in with mosquito nets; the wicker furniture was pushed to the edges of the room and dozens of sweaty teenagers were grinding and thrusting to a DJ, music pounding from enormous speakers. Aimee and Ria jumped into the middle of the fray, where Jenna and Pearl were already dancing. Jenna's hair was down and she was without glasses for the first time since Rose had met her. Her arms were linked around the neck of a tall, slim guy with peach fuzz sideburns. His hands were on her butt.

"Who's that?" Rose asked, feeling irrepressibly lonely.

"That's Jenna's boyfriend, Bobby," Ria replied, half-shouting. "They'll be making out in the woods within the next hour."

"What?"

"Happens ever year," Aimee said, grinning as she sipped her beer and kept dancing when a guy pressed his front against her back and started dancing with her. "By the end of the night, it'll be like an orgy out there." Rose glanced past the mosquito nets to the woods at the end of Christian Todd's enormous backyard.

"That's charming," Rose said, wrinkling her nose, but something flipped in her stomach when she thought about Finn and that gloating, triumphant smirk of Kayla's, and wondered whether they would end up in the woods later tonight. Miserable, she took a sip of her beer, and didn't even jump when some guy sidled up to her, pressed his front against her back, and started grinding with her to the fast, loud hip-hop music.

"Cheer up, Rosie!" Aimee shouted, dancing with Ria and Pearl, who evidently went into hyper-drive when she'd had alcohol, and whose smile was manic as she wielded a digital-camera. They dragged her away from the guy she'd been dancing with and the music changed, to a song Rose loved, and, surrounded by girls who gave her friendly smiles and encouraging grins and didn't look at her as if she was a boyfriend thief or a rival, her mood picked up. She closed her eyes and imagined she was at a party with her North Carolina friends, that it was Pogue she had played beer-pong with, and that it was sweet Garrett Norwood and his gorgeous arms that she had been dancing with. It didn't make her feel any better, but opening her eyes and seeing the girls all dancing and grinning did.

She wouldn't let Evan McGowan or neurotic, jealous Hailey Farmer or Finn McGowan or stupid, anorexic Kayla Bird get in the way of her having a good night, not any more. The song changed and Rose threw her arms up and whooped, grinning; the girls laughed and joined her, dancing to Lady GaGa and singing along.

For a little while, they danced, and grinned, and sang along at the top of their voices, passing around a beer and laughing. Then Bobby whispered something in Jenna's ear and she gave him a private smile; Bobby took her hand lightly and led her off the dance-floor. Jenna stumbled once but caught her balance, laughing loudly. Rose watched as they pushed through the screen door and headed out across the lawn.

"There they go," Ria said, lifting a hand and rolling her eyes.

Rose felt a stab of longing and another wave of complete, crushing loneliness, but Aimee, Pearl and Ria weren't content to let her feel sorry for herself and dragged her back into the throng of sweaty, writhing bodies. She freaked with a new, good-looking guy, and grinned, linking her arms around his neck, avoiding his lips when he tried to kiss her, and laughing at his pouting expression. He wasn't going to get _her_ in the woods.

"Rose, look!" Aimee giggled, pointing out something across the room; Rose followed her gaze and grinned when Finn caught her eye, his expression stark, completely ignoring Kayla Bird; she shot him a flirty wave and Aimee and Ria pealed with giggles; Pearl dashed over to the DJ and leaned into him, grinning.

Def Leppard came on—more importantly, 'Pour Some Sugar on Me'. Rose whooped loudly and grinned, and started dancing sexily by herself. She _loved_ dancing to Def Leppard, particularly when she had been drinking…but she liked it even better when she was dancing with someone else. She came to a quick decision, caught Aimee's eye and grinned, and dashed off, striding right up to Finn. She shot Kayla a smile, grabbed Finn, and hauled him over to the dance-floor. He almost lost his balance but straightened up, looking stunned; then he grinned, and they started to dance.

"Oh my god!" Rose shouted, jubilant, laughing her ass off. "You dance like a slut!"

And he did. She had never seen Finn dance before, but to Def Leppard, he danced like a complete whore. And, better, he grabbed her, and was dancing _with_ _her_; it was all grazing thighs and grinding hips, hair-tossing and torsos pressed together, arms draped around each other, signing along at the top of their lungs. So maybe her enjoyment of the night _did_ depend on one person smiling at her, but until Finn had his hands gripping her butt and was grinding something very conspicuous against her as they danced lustily with each other, his nose pressed gently against hers in the most adorable, intimate way, his lips hovering so torturously close to hers, she wouldn't have admitted it had been him.

When the song ended, they got separated by a group of boisterous, rowdy guys causing a scene, and the girls all fell on her, grinning and squealing, and in Pearl's case bursting a lung laughing so hard. They danced to Black Eyed Peas, and Rose was just thinking she needed another drink when she spotted Hailey.

She stood next to the door, and wore a barely-there black tube top and a denim skirt so short it could have passed for a belt. She was surrounded by four guys, all of whom were practically drooling into their beers. After a long drink from her cup, she placed it on the edge of the windowsill and tossed her arms around one guy's neck. The drink toppled over and hit the floor, splattering their shoes with beer. Hailey spit out a laugh and doubled over, clinging to her man. She was _gone_.

And Evan walked in. And he was _not_ happy. He went right over to Hailey, took her arm, and pulled her away from her circle of vultures—er, admirers. Still dancing, Rose kept tabs on the couple. Evan bent his head toward Hailey's and was saying something in her ear, but Hailey kept looking away. Finally a spark lit up her eyes. She turned her head toward him and yelled something right in his face. Then she stormed out the door into the backyard. Evan put his hands on his slim his and took a few deep breaths. He shook his head slowly and went into the pool-room.

_Oh dear_.

She turned back to the girls and refocused on dancing. She had forgotten how much fun _dancing_ was, particularly in the midst of a crowd of likeminded, lust-driven teenagers looking for a little closeness. There was no harm in dancing with a stranger at a party, or just dancing with her girlfriends.

* * *

"Cup all the way empty!" Rose called over the music, raising her empty cup. "Need more nectar!" The girls waved her off and Rose went stumbling through the crowd, trying not to get groped or tripped up as she made her way back into the house. A guy in a backward baseball cap came up behind her and pressed his chest into her back, squeezing her shoulder with one hand. _So close…_

"Hey, hey, hey, pretty lady! You lost?"

Rose shrank out of his grip and smiled, shaking her head.

"No thanks. Just going to get another drink."

"Well, then, you came to the right guy," he said. "I'm Christian Todd. You're at my party."

"Yeah, it's, uh, pretty…" she glanced around, saw someone vomiting behind a sofa and a group playing quarters on an antique-looking coffee-table, a few couples making out against the walls, "cool," she finished lamely. The real atmosphere was in that blocked-in porch.

"And you are…?" Christian Todd prompted.

"Rosalie Meade," Rose said, blushing, taking a careful step back as he swayed slightly.

"Oh, no way! You're the chick crashing at the McGs'! Sweet!" he said, looking her up and down fiercely. "Damn. You _are_ hot!"

Rose blushed, and stopped the impulse to roll her eyes. "Yeah, uh…thanks. See you later."

A short skirt walked past and Christian Todd was distracted long enough for Rose to slip into the kitchen. _Oh_.

There were no longer any beer-pong players, just a few people getting drinks. Amongst them was Evan. So much for avoiding each other—but she needed to get to that keg!

"Hey."

"Hey," she replied, when he glanced up and spotted her teetering on the threshold.

"Want a drink?" Evan asked, motioning to the keg. Rose smiled and nodded, and watched Evan as he focused all his energy on filling a cup for her. He was drinking steadily from his own cup.

"How long have you been in here?" Rose asked, wondering alternately, _how much have you drunk?_

"About half an hour, I guess," Evan said, with a sigh.

"I…uh…I saw you and Hailey," she admitted. "Are you okay?"

Evan exhaled loudly. "No, not really. She's trying to get back at me; can you believe that? She was in there flirting with freakin' _Mike Bagley_ and his loser friends. When I didn't even do anything."

A love song came on the stereo; 'When Love & Hate Collide' by Def Leppard, another of her absolute favourites, and she hummed along for a little bit.

"From what I saw…she's even more sloshed than Darnell will be by now," Rose remarked, sipping her beer. Evan laughed sarcastically.

"Please. She knew what she was doing when she walked in here tonight. The thing that really gets me is she's doing it on purpose." Rose leaned against the counter beside him, crossing her ankles. "When I flirt…_if_ I flirt…it's not like it's premeditated. I'm not doing it to hurt anybody's feelings or get a rush or anything from the attention. It's just my personality. I mean, I'm a nice guy. I'm nice to girls. It's not my fault if they like me. But I've never cheated on her. Not once." Rose _Mm-_edthoughtfully and sipped her beer. Evan sighed heavily and drank deeply from his cup. "You'd think that would count for something." He looked so miserable and helpless; she couldn't help feeling a little bit of sympathy for him.

"Considering the only real boyfriend I ever had cheated on me, I'd say, yes, that you haven't has to count for something," Rose said. She didn't mention that an emotional relationship with someone or even a flirtation wasn't advisable for _any_ relationship. Evan yawned, and Rose guessed he was at that point of inebriation where he was just really tired.

"I shouldn't be here with you right now for a lot of different reasons," he said sadly.

Rose wasn't a meek little lamb when she had a few beers under her belt. As Darnell had noted at the last Baker party she'd gone to, she was flirty when she was drunk. She was also fiery, depending on _what_ she'd drunk, and how much. Now, she was just going to speak her mind.

"Evan, I don't want to offend your girlfriend, but she's just going to have to grow up," she said passionately, taking a sip of her beer. Evan glanced up, eyebrows flickering up.

"What?"

"She's just going to have to deal with the fact that I'm here, that I live with you, because she can be a selfish bully and keep trying to knock me down during practice, but I took notes from Finn's tackles tonight, and she won't find it easy to knock me onto the floor any longer," Rose said. "I don't care what she's feeling right now, because she keeps bullying me; if I didn't have to live here because of my parents, believe me, I wouldn't, but since I do, it's none of her business if I _am_ living with you and your family. She'll just have to accept that fact and move on. But I'm not going to waste the effort perpetuating whatever her deal is with me. I cannot bring myself to be bothered in girl-politics with that girl."

Evan blinked.

"What?"

"Nothing. I'm just… Most girls aren't as honest as you," he said quietly.

"They are, if you listen," Rose said, shrugging. "And anyway, I've been drinking beer; it always makes me loudly opinionated. Do you want to know what else I think?"

"Well, this is the most I've talked with you since you moved in, so…yeah," Evan said, smiling.

"Okay…I think that you're a good guy, and from what I can tell, a great boyfriend. Hailey may be insecure and jealous and tyrannical, and, I mean, she is a horrendous bully and, yes, there's that whole thing with her not being able to wear any skirts wider than belts…where was I going with this?" She paused, taking in Evan's incredulously amused expression. "Oh yeah! Despite _all_ of her numerous and very serious character flaws, you seem to be always thinking about her feelings. You didn't even want to be seen with _me_ tonight because you thought it might upset her. You really care about her, which means a lot. Not many high-school boys are that attentive to their girlfriends' feelings."

Evan glanced down at her, and his brown eyes softened, warmed, and he smiled. Rose smiled and raised her cup to drink.

"Oh, you _have_ to be kidding me!"

Rose jumped and almost sloshed half her remaining beer down her front. Evan whirled around, and Rose followed suit, slower. Hailey stood in the kitchen doorway, her legs spread for balance, her tube top riding dangerously low.

Evan looked from Rose to Hailey, his eyes widening. "Hailey!"

"I came in here to talk things out with you and you're alone with _her!_?" Hailey shouted. "With _her_?"

"Er—firstly, 'her' has a name," Rose frowned. "It's Rosalie. Secondly—there are people everywhere!" She gestured around the room, where people were grabbing drinks and snacks and talking or necking. And now staring at _them_.

"Rose, don't." Rose turned on Evan now. She raised her eyebrows at his expression, and her face hardened. Her Harpy face had taken over now.

"Wow. I mean, really, wow. You two are unbelievable," Hailey said, yanking her tube top up so violently that she nearly knocked herself over. "Have fun with your little chipper girl or whatever you call her."

"Hailey, wait!"

Evan followed her out into the hallway. Rose followed _him_, curious about what would happen next; a line of openly gaping spectators greeted her in the foyer. Hailey stumbled outside, fumbling in her purse for her car-keys, Rose guessed.

"Hailey, you can't drive like that!" Evan shouted, over the tumult of the games room and the living-room; a crowd of people surged through the foyer, blocking Evan from Hailey. Evan shoved his way through the crowd, but it was too late; she was gone. When Rose reached him, still sipping her beer, he was standing on the front porch, struggling for breath. Rose scanned the front lawn for any trace of Hailey, but there was nothing. She wouldn't have thought Hailey was sober enough to make it halfway down the garden path without falling, but that just showed her.

"Give me your car-keys," Evan ordered, rounding on her.

"Excuse me?"

"Give me your car-keys."

"Why?"

"I'm going to go _look _for her," Evan said, and desperation lit up his eyes. "She's had way too much to drink to drive herself home. I need to find her and make sure she doesn't get herself killed doing something stupid."

"Ask me nicely," Rose said, frowning at him. She wouldn't reward barked orders, like she was some unloved guard-dog.

"_Rose_!"

"Alright, fine! Hearing you scream my name is more than enough," Rose said, digging into her purse for her keys. She caught them in her fist before Evan could snatch them from her fingers. "You leave a scratch on the paintwork, mark the upholstery, get vomit _anywhere_ on the truck, or change my radio station, I will kill you."

"Noted," Evan said. He took the keys and ran over to her truck. She watched anxiously as he pulled out into the road, turned and drove off. _He's a big boy, he's got a licence_…_your baby will be fine…_

* * *

**A.N.**: I just think Evan is way too pathetic. And my thoughts on Hailey are clearly channelled through tipsy-Rose.


	21. Consequences

**A.N.**: Most of the vengeful deaths Rose imagines for Kayla are inspired by Supernatural. Dean is _sooooo_ edible.

* * *

**Rose Amongst Thorns**

Chapter Twenty-One

_Consequences_

* * *

"Anything?" Aimee asked, pulling a cushy, fringed pillow onto her lap so that Rose could collapse on the couch next to her.

"Not a thing," Rose groaned, relaxing onto the cushy plush seat. She needed a sofa like this at the McGowans'. She could easily sleep on it. She sipped her water and snapped her phone shut. She looked at the big, bright blue fish in the aquarium next to her. She looked like Dory from 'Finding Nemo,' with streaks of luminous yellow on her fins and tail. There was another fish, which she recognised as an angelfish from Pogue's home aquarium tank, with the most amazing bright-orange and luminous, almost UV-like blue colouring that shimmered one colour then the next in different lighting. She could sit and watch them for hours—which she just might have to, since Evan had disappeared with her truck without doing the courtesy, after an hour, of bringing it back or even calling to tell her where he was—where her _truck_ was. "Finn is nowhere to be found, either."

"Did he disappear with…Kayla?" Aimee asked carefully. Rose half-snarled and glared at the Dory-fish as she blew bubbles innocently. She remembered a little girl who _loved _Dory, and her chest cramped, compounded by thoughts that Finn might well have disappeared into the orgy in the woods with Kayla Bird.

"I don't really want to think about that," Rose said honestly, watching the fishes swim around idly, completely at their leisure, while chaos went on around them, peaceful and secluded in their little patch of home. Rose glanced at her friend.

"You're not mad, are you?"

"Why would I be mad?" Aimee asked, propping her cheek on the back of the couch. "It's not your fault Hailey just had her quarter-life crisis. Besides, that girl has spent most of her life torturing me. One night of being a little unhappy is not going to kill her—besides, she's probably already passed out in bed. She won't remember a thing."

"You sound as if you know that for sure."

"I know my sister," Aimee said heavily.

The news of what had happened in the kitchen—or what had _not_ happened but what Hailey Farmer _thought_ had happened between her long-term boyfriend and his new pretty housemate—had spread through the house like wildfire. People had already been muttering about Rosalie Meade, the girl who had moved in with the McGowan boys. Now, the muttering wasn't so quiet, and more and more people were taking an interest in her.

She could deal with the partygoers talking about her; that was just high-school. But she really didn't want to lose her new friends. "Thanks." Aimee squeezed her hand, and Rose offered her the cup of ice-water. She had tried to find Finn to see if she could catch a ride home with him, since Evan was being so discourteous and not bringing her baby back or calling her to tell her it was okay. And that Evan was okay, of course, she wanted to make sure _he_ was okay, too…sure.

All Rose wanted to do now was go home to _bed_. She had reached the crash point in alcohol consumption where she was just drowsy, and for that reason she had started drinking water, sharing it with Aimee, who needed it a little more than Rose did. But she _couldn't_ go home. She wouldn't hitch a ride with a complete stranger, and she couldn't ask anyone else, because they had later curfews than she did. Evan was gone—_with her truck_—and Finn had disappeared. Evan wasn't picking up his cell, and she didn't want to call Finn and interrupting something she was having a hard time not imagining deep in the woods—like a Wendigo grabbing Kayla and taking her off to his lair to keep for a few days and then consume painfully while she was still alive…

Aimee had been drinking as much as she had and Pearl and Ria had left to get food with some guys. Rose was _stranded_. She wished Pogue was here. He'd take one look at Hailey, pick out her deepest fears and neuroses and ruthlessly exploit them, then he'd go on to beat sense into Evan, and then he'd probably kill Finn for dallying with her _and_ Kayla Bird.

"Oh. My. God. You guys!"

Jenna zigzagged into the room from the porch and fell down on her knees in front of the couch. Her hair was a wild mess and her cardigan sweater was misbuttoned. Bobby walked in behind her and leaned back against the wall, eyes at half-mast, looking very at peace. Rose felt that crippling loneliness again and fought hard to make Kayla die a slow and painful death by Bloody Mary in front of her mirror instead of kissing Finn McGowan.

"Jenna? What happened?" Aimee asked.

"Okay, you are _never_ gong to believe who I just saw getting all naked in the woods!" Jenna said. "Hold on. Hold on. I need to be standing for this." She pushed herself up and fell backward into some guys walking behind her. Rose lunged to grab her, but one of the guys stood her up straight before moving on. Sweet guy. _Bet _he_ doesn't have a psycho neurotic girlfriend and a brother who's a complete asshat_, Rose thought, ashamed of herself for thinking such mean thoughts.

"Who?" Aimee asked.

"Your sister," Jenna said, pointing at Aimee, "and her boyfriend's _brother_!"

Rose stared. A huge anvil might have dropped on her, she didn't know. There were no chiming keys from a broken grand-piano, but she felt just as stunned and weightless and disoriented as if she _had_ been hit with either of those two things, with little birdies twittering in circles around her head.

Hailey and…and one of Evan's _brothers_?

There were only two possibilities. Finn or Doug.

"_What_?" Aimee demanded, looking more sober than she had been all night.

"Which one?" Rose asked weakly, a lump jumping into her throat.

"The '_gangsta_' one," Jenna said, laughing uncontrollably as she executed some huge air quotes. "Can you believe that?"

Rose blinked, and fought the urge not to vomit.

"Doug?" Rose managed. "Hailey is out there right now having _sex_ with _Doug_?"

"Scandal!" Jenna announced, waving her hands.

Rose gaped, shocked. How could Doug do that to Evan—to his brother? How could _Hailey_ do this to Evan? How could Hailey do that _with_—vomit—Doug!

"This night could not _possibly_ get any more messed up," Aimee gasped.

"Oh," Jenna said, holding her stomach. "Uh-oh." She ran, but they heard her retching just inside the foyer.

"_Oh! Nasty!_" someone shouted.

"Jenna! Are you oaky?" Aimee asked, and Rose followed her into the foyer. Luckily, Jenna had managed to find a decorative planter to vomit in.

"Oh my god," Jenna said, holding her hand over her mouth. "Oh my god, I'm so embarrassed." She turned on her heel and, shoving right by her boyfriend, stumbled for the nearest bathroom.

"This is… This is…" Rose didn't even know _what_ this was; she and Aimee returned to their couch and sank onto it. Between Jenna's announcement and her regurgitation, Rose was feeling nauseous herself.

"Tell me about it," Aimee said, sounding stunned, looking after Jenna. "She's supposed to be my ride."

"I'm talking about Doug and Hailey," Rose said weakly. She didn't know which situation was worse; that Doug had allowed himself to have sex with Hailey, or that Hailey had actually allowed Doug to have sex with her. Both scenarios were too disgusting to contemplate on insides full of alcohol. "How could they do this?"

"Oh, god. Don't tell me you're going to get sick too," Aimee said, edging away from her.

"No, I'm okay," Rose said, sipping her water. "I mean, aside from the mental image of Doug undressing Hailey."

Aimee paled. "Great. Now _I'm_ going to vomit."

"I didn't tell you about last night at dinner, did I?" Rose grumbled, eyes sliding closed. She was _tired_. Her brain just couldn't possibly function with all this _stuff_ going on inside it; Hailey taking off, or apparently _not_, Evan taking off—_with her truck_—everyone whispering about her, Rose, not being able to call Finn or even the McGowans because she didn't want to wake anyone this late, Evan not answering his phone, Jenna's announcement… Nope. Her brain was going to _ping_, in the words of Rory Gilmore.

"Aren't you even surprised?" Rose asked, grumbling. She peeked at Aimee.

"About what?"

"About Hailey—and Doug! I mean…Ew! I don't know which is worse; that she had sex with him, or that he had sex with _her_," Rose said.

"Believe me, you live with my sister for sixteen years and almost nothing surprises you anymore," Aimee sighed.

Bobby cut through the room and stopped in front of them, his hands in his back pockets. "Uh, is either of you sober enough to drive?" he asked. "Jenna's not doing so good."

Rose sighed and glanced at her watch, then hung her head in defeat. It was already quarter-past midnight. The first test of her curfew and she might fail. She made a heartfelt goodbye to Dean and Sam from Supernatural, knowing the first thing to go would be her television privileges if she missed curfew. This night was definitely done, what with the stomach-emptying _grossness_ of discovering Hailey and Doug had _fucked_. She was more than ready to sink into her bed and just collapse into oblivion for a few hours…until cross-country practice.

_Man…I need a new hobby_, she sighed. _Something that doesn't involve early-morning Saturday training_.

"I'm good," she said, shoving herself up, then reaching her hand out to help Aimee, who still looked unsteady on her feet despite the water they'd been draining. "I'm ready to get to bed."

* * *

"It's this one, right here," Jenna directed, pointing at a small cape house that was just like all the others on the street. Rose brought the little Focus to a stop and put it in park, not used to an automatic, letting out a sigh. It was twenty to one. She had dropped off Bobby first, who lived the other side of town from _everyone_, and then Aimee, and now glanced at Jenna, her last passenger.

"You sure?" she asked.

"Sure, I'm sure. It's my house, right?" Jenna smiled charmingly. Then she narrowed her eyes and leaned forward. "They are all _exactly_ the same though, aren't they!"

"It's number twenty-two," Rose said tiredly, glancing at the mailbox.

"Yes!" Jenna said loudly, lifting her arms. "That's it!" Rose slid out of the car; Jenna met her at the driver's door.

"Thank you so much, Rosalie," Jenna slurred, falling against her in a hug. She still smelled vaguely of vomit, though they'd been driving with all the windows wide-open. "What would I do without you?"

"Spend the night sleeping on Christian Todd's couch, that's what," Rose whispered.

"I swear I'm never gonna drink again," Jenna murmured, clutching her stomach again. "Do you have a ride home?" Jenna was wobbling a little bit like she was trying not to fall.

"I'll figure something out," Rose said, looking around at the darkened street, _whether it's hitchhiking or running, I'll get home…somehow_. "You just go inside. I'll be fine."

"Okay. Well, thanks again. I'll talk to you later," Jenna said; Rose handed her the car-keys, and she watched her walk unsteadily up to the front door; Rose waited for her to get inside, and took a deep breath and sighed, sitting down on the curb. She couldn't postpone it or help it any longer. She pulled her cell-phone out of her purse and scrolled the contact list. Miller, sweet kid, had helped her programme all the McGowans' numbers into her phone, in case of emergencies.

She scrolled down to find Evan's name and hit the call button. When she had dropped off Bobby, she had tried him. Then again at Aimee's house. She had gotten his voicemail each time, and when she heard the little chuckle at the end of his voicemail greeting again, she lost it.

"Pick up your goddamn phone, you ass!" she snapped, and then hung up. She was about ready to murder that boy.

She sighed and, regretting having to resort to it, scrolled down to Finn's name. He was probably at home already, observing the new curfew like a good boy, mentally reviewing his second date with gorgeous dancer Kayla Bird. She just hoped his parents weren't hovering over him, asking questions; she knew John and Regina tended to stay up quite late, taking advantage of the alone-time.

Finn picked up on the fourth ring.

"_Hello_?"

Rose's stomach disappeared. Her heart flew into her throat, and tears burned in her eyes.

Not Finn.

Kayla.

Kayla, sounding groggy, her voice rich with…with lust. She let out a breathy laugh and murmured something so quiet Rose couldn't hear it.

"_You've reached Finn McGowan_," Kayla said breathily. "_When he's through with me he _might _call you back._"

"_Who is it?_" she heard Finn asked in the background. Soft laughter from Kayla.

"_I'm doing you a favour_," Kayla said, not quiet enough for Rose not to hear.

"_Kayla, give me the phone_! _Hello_? _Rose_?"

She hung up, her heart pounding against her ribcage.

Finn was with Kayla. She had heard the kissing-rich voices. The way Kayla had spoken about her.

Her phone vibrated in her hand. Her tears blurred the name glowing on the screen, but she knew who it was. Her eyes burning with the threat of tears, she connected the call and pressed her phone to her ear.

"_Rose?_" Finn sounded worried. He'd sound high-pitched when she'd finished with him.

"Yes," she said.

"_Rose, what's wrong?_" Finn asked. "_What's happened?_"

Tears welled in her eyes, pooling, then spilled over, down her cheeks. "I… Nothing… I was just wondering if you were home already. But I see that you're not, so I'll go."

She hung up, and burst into tears.

She was already screwed. She knew there was no way she could get back to the McGowans' in the dark, before curfew. She knew there was one person she wanted to talk to and that that one person would still be awake at ten to one in the morning.

"_Pogue_," she whimpered, when he picked up on the first ring.

"_What's_ _wrong_?" he asked instantly. She stood up, and talking to him on her cell-phone, started walking. She knew how to get back to Bernal Avenue from here, and knew that road would take her right to the McGowans' neighbourhood.

But it was dark, and she was on her own, and no matter how much Pogue encouraged it, she couldn't stay in her cell-phone with him for the whole walk back to stop her getting paranoid that she was being followed or watched. She had no house-keys, knew practically _no one_ in town she could call to ask for a very big favour. Walking home in the dark was very different to driving home in the daylight. She made it to Bernal Avenue just as the clock struck one a.m. She was screwed.

_Goodbye, Dean. Goodbye, Sam_, she thought miserably. No more Supernatural for a while. She had sworn off social functions for the foreseeable future anyway. She didn't play video games. She could deal with being grounded.

She breached the slope of the first hill of Bernal Avenue, past the baseball diamonds and soccer field. Next came the huge, miles-long stretch of walls and dark-windowed buildings set high on the crest of the overlooking hill, spreading down below the road. The church, a few residential streets. The park, on both sides of the road. Rose kept walking.

A few minutes later, she didn't know how many, but knew she had passed the free-range chickens, Rose's shadow stretched up before her on the sidewalk, created by fierce headlights driving up behind her. She remembered what she had been taught; if someone was trailing her in a car and she was walking alone, she had to walk the opposite direction from that which they were driving, so they couldn't grab her. She glanced over shoulder and recognised Regina's car as it drove nearer, headlights blinding her; the car slowed down as it drew up beside her. The passenger window scrolled down.

"Rose?" Bless him, he had the heart-in-your-mouth concern down. She doubted Ferris Bueller could best him at getting out of school with a fake illness. Finn stared out at her from inside the car, his face illuminated by the dashboard lights. He looked panicked, and tousled. His lips were pouty from kissing.

"What is it, Finn?" she asked throatily, still walking. She was upset, and scared, and weary, and she felt like she was being watched and followed, and the hill was a lot longer and steeper than she realised when driving or running it.

"Get in the car, Rose," Finn said softly. Rose paused, a swell of emotion crashing over her, slumping her shoulders, making tears well in her eyes. "Rose, c'mon." She desperately just wanted to keep walking now to prove a point.

But she knew she couldn't. She opened the passenger door and tucked herself into the seat, closing the door sharply.

"What the _hell_ were you thinking!" Finn shouted, and Rose jumped. She stared at him, the tears that had welled in her eyes dripping down her cheeks. "You were gonna walk all the way home _ALONE_ at one a.m.?"

"Well, it seemed like the only option available," Rose said coldly.

"Bullshit! You could've called Evan," Finn said, eyes flashing.

"What d'you think I've been doing for the past hour and a half, Finn?" Rose said loudly, anger flaring, mixing with the hurt and upset she had been feeling for most of those ninety minutes.

"Well, you could've told _me_ you needed a ride," Finn said furiously, his cheeks flushing angrily.

"Well, you sounded a little preoccupied when I called," Rose snapped back. Finn blushed hotly, and stared at the steering-wheel.

"What happened to your truck?" he asked quietly, some minutes later. "I thought you drove it to the party."

"Evan has my truck."

"Why did Evan drive your truck home?" Finn asked, frowning.

"Because he was going after Hailey and didn't think I'd need my truck back," Rose said throatily. This was dangerous; if he pressed her too much longer, she'd burst into tears again, and she would _not_ cry in front of Finn McGowan.

"How did you get all the way to Bernal, walking?"

"I drove Jenna, Aimee and Bobby home in Jenna's car. I walked from her house when I dropped her off at home," Rose said, holding herself together so she didn't break in front of this slut.

She didn't know who she thought the least of; Evan, for taking her truck and ditching her, Finn, for going on another date with Kayla when he had been kissing _her_, or Doug, for having sex with Hailey. They were all assholes.

"So you decided to walk all the way home _alone_ in the middle of the night," Finn said, and she realised she had never heard him _angry_. He definitely was now.

"Well I wasn't going to call your parents and tell them their sons are all selfish assholes and I was stranded in the middle of town on my own at one a.m., was I?" Rose flashed back.

"You could've gotten hurt, Rose!" Finn said, sounding throaty and curiously upset. "You could've been kidnapped or raped or killed."

"And? If I hadn't have called you, you wouldn't even be giving me a thought," Rose said passionately.

"That is not true!"

"Oh, really?" Rose countered, her voice rising with emotion.

"Yes it's not true!" Finn half-shouted. "Because Pogue would still have called me to tell me he was gonna kill me for letting you wander around town _alone_ past midnight." Rose froze. _Pogue? The traitor_…

"Pogue called you?" she breathed, heat pooling in her eyes. She dashed a few tears away with her fingertips.

"Yeah!" Finn said, eyes flashing. "He called me about ten minutes ago, yelling at me for upsetting you, for prioritising another girl before you. He called me _after _calling my parents to ask what the hell was going on. He was _terrified_ something might happen to you, Rosalie."

"Well, you guys should feel the same way," Rose shouted, tears splashing down her cheeks. "Your parents _told_ you, they said that you were supposed to treat me as if I was a part of your family, but if I _was_ part of your family, you'd _never_ just abandon me at a party where I knew hardly anyone, when I had no ride home." She pushed the heels of her palms into her eyes and forcefully wiped the tears from her cheeks. "If I was part of your family, you wouldn't treat me like this," Rose cried, more tears splashing down her cheeks; she wiped them away roughly and her lip trembled as she curled up in her seat.

"You're right," Finn said quietly. "But if you were my sister, I wouldn't have kissed you, would I?"

"Who's to say _who_ you'd kiss," Rose sniffed, staring out of the window; Finn hadn't moved from the spot she'd climbed into the car; he'd put the hazard lights on and parked.

"What does that mean?" Finn asked softly.

"I heard what she said about me, when she answered your phone," Rose said, her lip trembling again. She just wanted to go home, get into bed, and have a good cry. "Finn, what were you _doing_ with me?"

"What do you mean?"

"Kissing me," Rose said, wiping her eyes. "I thought you said you'd gone off Kayla Bird, so what were you doing, kissing me, and then going on another date with her tonight? Huh? Tell me, what were you doing with me?"

Finn didn't answer. She didn't think he _could_. He punched the hazard-lights button so they turned off, put the car in drive and drove off up Bernal.

"I didn't know what to do," Finn said quietly, as they neared his neighbourhood, the huge houses set in enormous properties backed by woods and creeks. Rose had her eyes closed, begging herself not to cry any more, to calm down before they got home, because she knew John and Regina would be waiting up for them, very angry that it was half past one in the morning.

They pulled onto his street. "I… Kayla cornered me today at school and I didn't know what to say. I didn't want to hurt her feelings."

Rose ran that over in her mind, as Finn pulled into the McGowan property. The kitchen lights were on.

"Well, that's the important thing," she said gently, unbuckling her seatbelt and opening her door. "You didn't hurt her feelings." She slipped out of the car and closed the door quietly.

The front door opened as she reached the porch steps and John and Regina appeared in the doorway, dressed in pyjamas. Their fearful, anxious expressions flickered into something more resembling relief. Rose paused on the doormat, unable to bring herself to look up into their faces; her cheeks stung from crying and her eyes were probably puffy and bloodshot. She felt miserable.

"I know I'm grounded," she croaked weakly. "I'm sorry."

"Why don't you go on up to bed, sweetheart," Regina said softly, running a hand over Rose's hair; Rose nodded miserably and, tears welling again, walked timidly past them to the stairs, climbing up.

She changed into her comfiest, baggiest pyjama bottoms and a soft t-shirt, took off what little of her makeup remained, and climbed into bed. She was fast asleep within a minute.

* * *

**A.N.**: You know how it is when you're really upset, everything just makes you really tired.


	22. Edible

**A.N.**: Next instalment for nygirl4eva. If you review, you get new chapters and dedications; so please review!

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**Rose Amongst Thorns**

Chapter Twenty

_Edible_

* * *

Rose drove up the lawn of the McGowans' property, still jazzed on adrenaline from completing a ninety minute, eight-mile run with the cross-country team, a little of her excitement brought on from the run dissipating. This was _not_ a house she particularly wanted to be in.

After the colossal argument between Regina, John, Evan and Finn early this morning, Rose wanted to be anywhere but here. She knew she had been a little silly thinking she couldn't call John or Regina, but she hadn't wanted to wake anyone. They had appreciated that, but they had said if the little runts not being woken meant someone could abduct or attack her, they would bear Caleb's grumpiness the next day.

They couldn't punish Evan, because he had been home way before curfew, but they could hold him in contempt. When Rose was off her no-social-functions grounding, he, Evan, was going to make sure Rose was always safe at parties, that she wasn't left alone like she had been last night.

Finn had been grounded like her. John and Regina considered it a very poor show that Pogue had had to call them all the way from North Carolina to let them know what was going on with Rose, when Finn was supposed to be her friend and looking out for her.

The boys hadn't been on the defensive this morning; Finn had owned up that he should have known what was going on with Rose, because they _were_ friends; he was beyond pissed at Evan, and at himself, Rose thought. Evan had been contrite and had apologised for last night when Rose had asked for her car-keys back this morning.

She parked up by the garage, noting Sean working on Finn's Impala, and climbed out. She walked up onto the porch, and through the open front door. The house was cool and strangely quiet. She walked into the kitchen and froze.

Regina was refilling her coffee mug. After the tongue-lashing she had received earlier this morning, sitting at this very table like a naughty kindergartner, she wasn't really sure she wanted to be back in Regina's firing-range. She glanced up and noticed Rose, stopped in her tracks.

"Did you have a good run?" Regina asked, smiling.

"I…I did, yeah," Rose said. Luckily, she hadn't been forbidden her running. John and Regina knew well that sometimes a person just had to get out of the McGowan house to keep from going stir-crazy. School obligations were taken into account during grounding.

"I hope you didn't take an extra-long run after practice today just to avoid me," Regina said. Rose blushed.

"I'm not avoiding you," she said quietly. _I'm avoiding everyone else_, she thought. This morning, after the tongue-lashing, Regina had apologised tearfully for her sons' behaviour, upset with herself that she had already probably caused Tim and Lily to wonder whether they'd made the right decision, leaving their only surviving daughter with her. Rose had assured her that wasn't true, but she hadn't told her what had upset her the most about last night. Finn. Finn, and Kayla.

"Well, I'd understand if you were," Regina said softly. "I know you were being the responsible adult last night with driving everyone home, and I'm very sorry we had to set an example by you and Finn."

"I know," Rose said quietly. She just wished Regina and John had used _Evan_ as an example. If he hadn't taken her truck, she'd have been able to get home, not have to spend an hour trying to call him on his cell and find Finn at the party.

"Well…I have an apology plan," Regina said, glancing at her. "I have a gift certificate for this great little day-spa downtown, and I thought perhaps we could spend a day there, you know, spend some time together, just the two of us. We haven't hung out just you and me for a while. I thought, maybe we could have the whole works, you know, a facial, a massage, manicures and pedicures."

"That sounds really nice," Rose said honestly. "But—are you sure you want to use your gift certificate on me?"

"Please! I've been dying for an opportunity to use it," Regina smiled. "What do you say?"

"I'd love to," Rose said. After what she had gone through the past two weeks, she _needed_ a full-body rubdown. "Um…I'm going to go and have a _long _bath, if nobody minds."

"Oh, no, go ahead," Regina smiled. "Take a book in there, or something. That's what I do when I need some alone-time."

Rose could understand that.

She went upstairs, rinsed out the bathtub and put the plug in place, letting the water run, hot; she grabbed the bottle of 'Field of Flowers' _Philosophy _three-in-one bubble-bath she had bought at the mall with the girls, the 'Violette' _fresh_ candle she loved, her 'Sugar' body polish and face scrub, her iPod, her latest book and her towel and a fresh outfit and locked herself in the bathroom.

Rose had worked out her anger and upset and frustration during cross-country training and now, she relaxed. She'd felt horrible before practice, had felt like she was going to be sick and collapse, but she hadn't; she'd run off the booze and her hangover and now she just wanted to cocoon herself in steam and hot water. She slipped into the bath, her skin stinging because the water was so hot; the scent of a gorgeous florist's shop enveloped her, the scents wafting on the steam and in the thick bubbles, combined with the beautiful scent of violets, freesias and roses from the candle; she turned her iPod on to Ellie Goulding, the CD Regina had in her car and the song she had fallen in love with while Finn drove them home last night; 'The Writer.' She picked up her book, sank back into the deep, bubbly water, and started to read.

She really didn't want to leave the bath, when she had washed her hair and used her body scrub and treated her face to a moisturising scrub, the bubbles had almost gone, and she had to admit defeat. She climbed out of the bath, dried off, dressed in her favourite bell-bottom _J_ _Brand_ 'Love Story' dark-wash jeans, an _Old_ _Navy_ oatmeal-heather coloured raglan-sleeved Henley top she always wore when she was sad, her _Hermés_ watch, her 'Karma' bracelet and her gold hoop earrings. In her bedroom, she blow-dried her hair and pinned it up into a low, messy bun; she applied minimal makeup, sprayed her 'Ofresia' perfume, and went downstairs. She was _hungry_. That Thai dinner last night seemed forever ago.

She froze once more at the threshold of the kitchen.

Finn was making himself lunch at the stove. She hadn't seen him since early this morning, when he and Evan and Rose had all been pretty badly hungover. The McGowan boys had the excellent genes to make them look even more adorable when they were hungover, instead of horrendous.

He glanced up when the door squeaked and blinked.

"Hey," he said softly.

"Hey," Rose said, looking anywhere but at him. She was battling between running and starving and just toughing it out and getting herself lunch. She needed something to drink, too; caffeine was prerequisite for her hangover cure. That, and copious amounts of running to work off the booze.

"You left early this morning," Finn said quietly.

"Yeah, I had practice," Rose said. She could smell melted butter and cheese, and her stomach rumbled. And there was something else, too…_chilli_. The vat she had used for pasta on Thursday was on the hob, simmering, and filling the room with the smell of chilli. It smelled _good_. And she was _so_ hungry. She'd only had a Clif bar for breakfast, and on top of a hangover that was _not _enough.

"I…uh… Can we talk?" Finn asked, blushing. Rose was completely relaxed after her long soak, so she was in more of a forgiving mood. She sidled up to the refrigerator, grabbed a can of Diet Pepsi and leaned against the island, snapping it open. She only drank caffeine after a night out.

"What do you want to talk about?" Rose asked quietly.

"Well… I… I realised last night that I owed you an explanation and a _big_ apology," Finn said quietly, catching her eye. He really was very ashamed of himself, she realised that right off, because those speaking eyes of his were practically weeping with self-loathing. "So…yesterday, at lunch, Kayla asked me if I was going to Christian Todd's party, and then she asked whether I wanted to go with her. I realised that in trying not to hurt her feelings by saying no, I'd hurt your feelings by not telling you."

"Why didn't you?"

"Uh…" Finn shrugged. "I didn't see you after lunch, then you had practice, and I had practice, and I wouldn't be able to talk to you before the game…so I blurted it out at the table over dinner. And I know that was really stupid of me, 'cause obviously it stunned you."

"Your mom wondered why you wouldn't have told me," Rose said quietly. Even tired-to-her-marrow Regina had noticed the two of them were getting really friendly.

"Yeah, well…in case you hadn't noticed, I'm not too good with the ladies," Finn said, blushing. Rose arched an eyebrow.

"You've made out with two girls since Tuesday," she said. "I wouldn't think _that_ constitutes being bad with girls."

"Two girls?" Finn blurted, his eyebrows flicking up. "I've only kissed you—!" He broke off with a gasp, his eyes widening to immense proportions. "Unless you have an evil twin you haven't told anybody about!"

"What're you talking about? I'm talking about Kayla."

"I haven't kissed Kayla."

"What? Last night, when I called you…what _were_ you doing?"

"I ran out of gas halfway to Kayla's house so I had to stop by the gas-station to fill up the tank," Finn said, looking perplexed. "She fell asleep in the car, she'd drunk too much. I'd left my phone in the car when I went to pay for the gas, and when I got back Kayla was talking to you."

Rose stared at him. And blinked. And churned that over. So, last night when she'd called Finn, Kayla had sounded sleepy and throaty because she'd been _asleep_ not because she'd been kissing Finn; they'd been in Regina's car at a gas-station instead of in Kayla's bedroom.

She grinned. She couldn't help it. Her anger and hurt at Finn dissipated as quickly as it had come. He _hadn't_ been kissing Kayla Bird. Her cheeks heated, but she couldn't help smiling.

"So, wait, you thought—last night, you thought I was—I was with _Kayla_?" Finn stared. Rose blushed, and shrugged.

"I owe _you_ an apology for jumping to conclusions last night," she said, flushing hotly. "That's why I got mad and that's why I yelled at you in the car." Finn stared at her.

"You don't have to apologise for yelling at me, Rose," he said quietly. "You had every right to be upset last night. We abandoned you."

"Unintentionally," Rose mumbled, blushing.

"Now you're making excuses for us?" Finn laughed disbelievingly. "You really don't know how to bear a grudge, do you?"

"No," Rose said, shaking her head. Finn smiled, but it quickly slid off his face.

"You really should, you know," he said quietly. "Anything could have happened to you last night."

"But it didn't," Rose said softly.

"No, but it could've," Finn said, frowning. "And it would've been my fault."

"No, it wouldn't. It would have been Evan's fault for taking the truck. It would have been Hailey's fault for making a scene and running off, making Evan take the truck," Rose shrugged. "It was my parents' fault for dying and sending me to live here so Hailey would start freaking out…" She shrugged. Finn reached up and tucked a loose wisp of hair behind her ear, brushing his thumb against her cheekbone.

"Still…anything could've happened to you by the time I picked you up," he said soberly. "Don't tell me you weren't scared."

"Of course I was. I watch too much Supernatural," Rose said, shrugging: Finn smiled, but he didn't laugh.

"Come here," he said, and enveloped her in his arms, hugging her close round her shoulders. Rose smiled to herself and nestled her cheek against his shoulder, lacing her hands over his lower-back. It felt so _nice_ to hug Finn. He smelt even more of tangy paint than usual, and she wondered why John and Regina hadn't forbidden him to paint, since he spent most of his time doing that rather than watching television. He was so warm and smelt so good, and standing there hugging him wasn't awkward like it was sometimes hugging other people. She could have stayed in his arms forever, which nettled for some reason. She shouldn't feel this way about someone she'd known for barely two weeks…but wasn't that the thing—love at first sight. Her parents had seen each other at a party in their freshman year of college and they'd been together until their last dying breaths. After twenty-five years of marriage and seven kids, John and Regina were still together.

"Are you gonna let me go now?" Rose murmured, perfectly happy to fall asleep standing in his arms. He was so warm and comfy.

"No. You smell good," Finn murmured against her hair. Rose chuckled softly and smiled. "Like a big bouquet of flowers or something." He inhaled deeply and sighed. "You always smell pretty."

"And you always smell of paint," Rose accused, smiling; she glanced up at him and he cracked a smile. "Have you been working in the studio?"

"I have," Finn smiled, and his eyes sparkled. "I've been working on some new stuff. I think you might like it. But I don't want you to see it yet."

"Pandora and her box, Finn; that's not fair," Rose pouted. "That's just asking me to sneak a look."

"Okay, well, I'll show you some of them," Finn amended. "But not all of them."

"How many paintings have you _done_ since Tuesday?"

"About half a dozen," Finn shrugged. "Some of them aren't finished yet, though, which is why I don't want you to see them."

"So…Kayla Bird won't be seeing your studio, then," Rose said quietly.

"Definitely _not_," Finn said. Rose looked up at him, tilting her head thoughtfully. She was glad he had gone on a date with Kayla, just so he could get her out of his system, but as Ria said, would it be Rose's eye coming out of her forehead now that Finn's blue-phase (meaning Kayla Bird) was over? Would she be Finn's next phase? When he got bored of her would he move on to another girl? She didn't want to think about the possibility. Besides, they weren't even…

She smiled and hugged him quickly, then grabbed her soda and ducked out from his arms. He smiled and flicked his eyes over her.

"You hungry?" he asked.

"Starving," Rose smiled slowly. He turned to the stove, and Rose watched him preparing a second grilled-cheese sandwich; he got two small plates and two mugs, filled the mugs with chilli and set the halved grilled-cheese sandwiches around them on the plate, grabbed two spoons and handed one plate to Rose.

"Wanna come down and eat in the studio?" he asked, and Rose nodded and smiled. In the backyard, Ian, Caleb and Doug were playing a mini baseball game.

"Sexy _lay-day_," someone sang, and Rose glanced over at Caleb, who was grinning at her and doing a sexy little (for a six-year-old) dance. Finn blurted a laugh and Rose giggled; she swooped down on him as she walked past, kissed his cheek before he could grimace and duck.

"Where does he come up with that stuff?" Rose asked, laughing, glancing over her shoulder at Caleb, who was wiggling his butt while he prepared to take a swing at the baseball Doug pitched in a perfect arc to him.

"I have _no_ idea," Finn said. "He definitely doesn't get it from me." Rose laughed and followed Finn into the shed.

"Did you tidy up in here?" Rose asked, looking around. The aura of the room was still the same, but things were…_organised_. Blank canvases were arranged size-wise by the door, and his paintings were organised by genre; portrait, landscape, still-life, and her favourite, abstract. Some of the canvases had been draped with dust-sheets so she couldn't see the subjects. Rose realised there _weren't_ any portraits. None of Finn's half-finished Kayla Bird paintings were visible. "Where are the portraits you did of Kayla?"

"Er…I painted over them," Finn shrugged, gesturing to the stack of fresh canvases by the door.

"You—what?" Rose stared down at the now-pristine canvases. They had lost the canvas texture and had obviously been treated and primed. "Why did you do that?"

"Well, I wasn't going to finish them, and I can't keep asking my mom to buy me new canvases," Finn said, shrugging. "It was good for me, though, it helped me cleanse my creative palate so I could start on something new."

"But…when you look back in twenty years, you won't be able to see those old paintings," Rose said, staring down at the blank canvases.

"I kept a few," Finn shrugged. "Little ones I'd _nearly_ finished, the best ones. But the others…nah, I couldn't keep them. Come on, sit, eat." Rose sat down on the garden bench beside Finn, who sat with his long legs spread out, his jeans tucked into his paint-splattered lace-up army boots, the chunky silver ring he wore on his middle finger on his right hand glinting in the light streaming through the skylight, winking off the metal face of his chunky leather-strap watch on his left wrist, the two little silver beads on the leather ties of his wooden-bead-and-leather bracelet on his right wrist. He was wearing a faded heather blue t-shirt with Chunk from The Goonies on it, doing the 'Truffle Shuffle.'

"This is good chilli," Rose said, digging in.

"Dad's planning on dedicating a vat of it to the Smithsonian when he dies," Finn said, shaking his head, dunking his grilled-cheese into the chilli. Rose followed suit. "So, you really thought I was with Kayla last night?"

Rose flicked her eyes toward him and focused on her lunch. Finn laughed. "I can't believe you thought that—what did you think we were doing?"

"I don't know," Rose flushed. "I just…thought you were with her. So, are you going to show me those new paintings of yours?"

"Alright, I'll let you change the subject, but _only_ because I want to show you this one," Finn said, downing the last of his chilli and cleaning the inside of his mug with the last of his grilled-cheese. He stood, towering over her, and Rose checked him out as he leaned over the small pile of still-life paintings and retrieved one of the largest canvases, draped in a paint-splattered dust-sheet. With the back facing her, he dragged the dust-sheet off and tilted his head, then righted the painting the right way up. He turned it round for Rose to see, leaning it against his legs. The top of the canvas brushed the tops of his thighs, and was just as wide as it was tall.

She paused, and stared.

Like the painting now hanging in Rose's bedroom over her dresser, it was like Finn had painted sex. The way he had used paint-strokes and the brushes he had used, the techniques, brought the gritty, sweaty textures of sex to life within the paint.

But unlike that lusty, earthy painting in her bedroom, this one was elegiac and at the same time, arrestingly sweet, and precise. He hadn't just painted two young lovers in a dreamscape of delicate, heavenly colours, in pale pinks and lilacs and palest blues, with dashes of cerise and violet and pale blondes and browns and a lot of diaphanous white, he had painted their relationship, their love-story. The colours were sweet like pretty spring flowers, swirling with emotions, harsh, threatening elements of the relationship, lust, anger, fear, love, echoed in darker, richer, brighter colours. It was like looking at a bouquet of flowers made into the sweetest dessert, captured in a dream of a spring afternoon tumbling in a sun-bleached meadow, though nothing of that sort was depicted in Finn's disjointed painting. Rose interpreted it all from the painting.

Finn's ability to replicate physical sensation was mouth-watering. The painting came alive with colours and designs that looked almost edible, creating the dramatic illusion of motion. Within the voluptuous surfaces of two interchangeable, intertwined figures so dainty and diaphanous they were ghostlike, erotic, delicious fantasies spontaneously unfolded, as if each brush stroke contained a dark and wonderful secret: the painting was opulent, sweet, and tainted with sin. It was gorgeous.

"Finn!" Rose breathed, unable to look away. She just wanted to _eat_ the thing, to dive into those heavenly colours and spent eternity in that dreamlike place, savouring the flavours and emotions the painting brought on.

"Do you like it?" Finn asked quietly, biting his lower-lip. Rose stared at the painting.

"It's…it's _incredible_, Finn," she breathed. She meant it. She didn't know where Finn got his talent from but she wasn't in any kind of short supply. Finn's smile was slow and steady and his eyes were twinkling.

"It's you," he said softly. Rose glanced up.

"Me? What do you mean?"

"It's… I was thinking about you when I painted it. It's what came to my mind when I thought about what your lips look like when you wear that pale-pink lip-gloss, and the flowers you smell like because of your perfume. Or, _perfumes_, I mean…the darker bits are for your other perfume, the one you wear on special occasions, and how I feel when I smell that perfume."

"You…you were thinking about _me_ when you painted this?" Rose asked quietly.

"Mm-hmm," Finn smiled with his eyes, and Rose's knees would have knocked together if she hadn't been sitting.

"Finn, it's…it looks _edible_," Rose said, licking her lips. The painting was making her hungry for strawberry toffee bonbons and a thick-thick chocolate-chip milkshake and Parma Violets and rock-candy and Caramel Chew-Chew ice-cream. And it made her want to wrap herself and Finn in a cocoon of warm, fresh white cotton-lawn sheets and…heat flamed through her body, rising to her cheeks as she licked her lips and ate up Finn's beautiful features.

"Well, I think _you're_ edible," Finn said cheekily, his eyes crackling with intensity even as he blushed. Rose smiled warmly.

"It's so deliciously dirty," she said, eyeing the painting covetously. "You have a filthy mind, Finn, and I love it."

Finn smirked. "A dirty mind is a terrible thing to waste."

"What else is in that filthy little imagination of yours?" Rose asked quietly. Finn's smirk turned into the most intense expression she had ever seen, so crackling with emotion; the air thickened inside the little shed, and her breath came in short and shallow little pants, warmth making her whole body overheat, in one place in particular.

For a minute, neither of them spoke or moved. Invisible fireworks were going off in the air around them.

The sound of shouting voices obliterated the silence. Voices coming from inside the house; for them to hear them here in the shed at the bottom of the back garden was something. Rose glanced at the door of the shed; the shouting was coming from inside the house and getting closer. The back door creaked open and slammed loudly, and the argument went into surround-sound.

"Are you gonna tell me the truth? Are you gonna tell me the truth?" Evan's voice hollered over and over again.

* * *

**A.N.**: I imagine Finn would be some kind of Cecily Brown protégé, with influences from Francis Bacon and Julian Schnabel and Picasso's Cubism phase, Wassily Kandinsky and Marilyn Minter's erotic, grimy artwork. I love Cecily Brown's paintings. They're so delicious and erotic.


	23. Throw a Bucket of Mud on 'em

**A.N.**: Okay, I asked my friend what to name this chapter because it's two brothers fighting, and she said, "just chuck a bucket of water on them. Or mud."

* * *

**Rose Amongst Thorns**

Chapter Twenty-Three

_Throw a bucket of mud on 'em_…

* * *

The painting fell with a _bang_ to the floor as Finn dived for the shed door, Rose hot on his heels, still holding the unfinished half of her grilled-cheese sandwich. She saw a baseball bat go flying, and little Caleb pelted towards her, tangling in her legs as she ran toward the scene of the argument; Ian had fled the scene.

Doug and Evan were going toe-to-toe in the centre of the patio. Evan's eyes were wild as he glared down at Doug, whose skin was blotchy and red with anger. Their faces were millimetres away from each other, their noses almost touching. Rose handed her segment of grilled-cheese to Caleb as he clung to her free hand.

"Tell me, man. Tell me what happened!" Evan said, shoving Doug with both hands.

"Evan!" Finn shouted; they all made their way up the garden toward the brothers.

"You already know, man. Why you doggin' me?" Doug shouted, stepping toward him again.

"'Cause I wanna hear you say it," Evan replied, bellowing. "I want my little brother to tell me to my face that he banged my girlfriend, that's why!"

"What?" Finn breathed, his expression falling slack. Caleb huddled against Rose's leg, the grilled-cheese gone, hugging her knee.

The back door of the garage opened, and Sean walked out, one greasy hand wrapped in an even greasier rag, the other curled around a sweating soda can. He shot Finn an inquisitive look and Finn just shrugged.

Rose had forgotten—well, she had spent the better part of twelve hours trying to block the image from her mind—to tell Finn the scandal that had occurred at Christian Todd's party. Apparently she was the only one here who knew what was going on.

"Come on, man! Come on!" Evan shoved Doug again and again until Doug was tripping backward.

"Fine!" Doug shouted, slamming Evan in the chest with both hands, with enough force to send Evan backward, taking a few steps to steady himself. "Fine! It's true! I banged your girlfriend and when I was done, she begged for more! Is that what you wanted to hear?"

Evan screamed and launched himself at Doug, tackling him backward and slamming him into the patio. Rose jumped, shouted, and surged forward, Caleb releasing her in terror, as Finn and Sean raced toward the smack-down. By the time they got there, Evan had already slammed his fist into Doug's face multiple times; his knuckles were bloody, and Doug's nose was a wash of red.

"Get off him, man! Get off him!" Sean shouted, trying to grab Evan's flailing arms.

"I hate you, you selfish little punk-ass loser!" Evan shouted as he pounded on Doug like a man possessed. "You make me _sick_!" Doug managed to kick a cheap-shot between Evan's legs that distracted his older-brother long enough for Sean to grab Evan in a two-arm lock and haul him bodily off Doug, kicking and shouting the whole way.

Finn helped his little brother sit up. There was blood _everywhere_. Finn ripped off his Truffle Shuffle t-shirt and balled it up, holding it under Doug's nose.

"What the hell happened, man?" Finn asked, catching his breath. Evan had managed to punch out the brothers trying to _stop_ the fight, as well as Doug; Rose knew there would be bruises and bitterness all round at dinner tonight.

"Who the hell do you think you are?" Evan shouted at Doug. Rose had seen fights before. But never any that had gotten this far, and never between two people she knew. And never two brothers. Evan's callousness and his treatment of his little brother shocked her more than anything else. How could he do that to Doug? Forget what Doug had done, he was Evan's _little_ _brother_. Some things were more important than who had slept with whose girlfriend.

"Caleb, go get your daddy," Rose whispered to him, and he ran off as fast as his little legs could take him.

A sudden flare of anger and upset made her hackles raise, the fine hairs at the back of her neck prickle, and her anger riled; she would _not_ sit around and let Evan get away with beating the hell out of his little brother. She strode over to a flailing, determined, red-faced, irate Evan McGowan, and dealt him her best bitch-slap. He fell slack in Sean's two-arm hold, momentarily stunned.

"Don't you ever, _ever_ do that again!" she half-shouted, eyes narrowed to slits as she gave Evan her patented Harpy glare. Nobody dared be mean to their siblings around Rosalie Helena Meade, and these McGowan boys were not going to be the exception to that unwritten rule.

Doug pushed himself clumsily to his feet, catching the t-shirt to his face. "You're such a hypocrite asshole," he spat at Evan.

"I'm an asshole?" Evan shouted. "You had sex with _my_ girlfriend in the friggin' woods and _I'm_ the asshole."

"You were swapping spit with new girl, playah!" Doug yelled, throwing a hand toward Rose. "Hailey threw herself all cryin' and shit. Whaddaya want me to do?"

"What?" Evan spat; Rose blurted it out in surprise.

"You moved on, brotha," Doug said, pointing at Evan. "Don't blame your fickle ass on me."

"Who told you that?" Evan said, shaking Sean off; Rose pressed a hand firmly against his chest when he tried to advance on his little brother again. "Who said I was messing around with Rosalie?"

Doug's touch demeanour faltered for the first time. "Hailey. Hailey did. She said you cheated on her. You guys were done." Rose's jaw dropped. Evan stared at the ground.

"I don't freakin' believe this," she heard him murmur. Then, shouted; "I don't freakin' believe this!" He turned and blew past Sean, heading for his car outside the barn.

Standing there, dumbfounded, shocked to their cores, they heard the Saab groan to life, heard Evan peel out of the property, the angry honk of a horn, and didn't move until the sound of his engine had faded into nothing. Rose turned to stare at Doug.

"Doug, what exactly did Hailey say to you?" she asked quietly. Doug stared back at her.

"She said she caught you and Evan swappin' spit in the kitchen; she said that her and Evan argued and they were done," Doug said. That sounded like Hailey, alright.

She licked her lips, feeling suddenly sick, as if the hangover she knew she'd gotten rid of during her run had returned, full-force.

"It's not true," she said finally. "Evan and I were talking in the kitchen. _Talking_." A crippling sadness settled in her stomach, weighing her shoulders down, leaching every good moment of the last hour from her. "Whatever she thought she saw or told you she saw, it was a lie. She lied to you, because I'd never kiss another girl's boyfriend, no matter how many times she'd injured me during practice." And that was the truth. She had never been unfaithful in a relationship, and she had never coerced anyone else to be either. That wouldn't change now just because she'd changed her home-address.

Doug just stood there for a moment, breathing rapidly, looking so confused Rose felt a swell of sympathy for him. Behind those usually contemptuous blue eyes, he was rapidly rethinking every decision he'd made over the last twelve hours, agonising and guilt-tripping over what he had done because of those decisions, and realising how far up that creek he was without paddles.

"I didn't—I didn't know…" Doug stammered. For a split-second, Rose could see the depth of regret in his eyes. He knew he had made a mistake. A really huge, potentially relationship-ending mistake. The relationship between him and his brother, that is.

"Come on," she said, hooking her arm around his waist, seeing how wobbly he was on his feet. "Caleb's gone to find your dad. Let's see if we can salvage Finn's t-shirt."

As soon as they had entered the house, Caleb came towing John along into the kitchen, still wide-eyed and panting. John took one look at Doug and demanded to know what happened; when Finn and Sean had finished explaining about the fight, John went literally white, a line receding down his neck past the neckline of his t-shirt, taking his colour with it, and he didn't seem to be able to speak.

"How did you stop him?" John asked.

"Douggie kicked Evan in the balls," Caleb spoke up.

"Sweetheart, don't use that word," Rose said quietly.

"I don't know another word," Caleb said innocently. He turned to Finn. "What's another word for balls?"

"Hey, why don't you go and get us a soda?" Finn said quietly, rumpling Caleb's white-blonde curls. Caleb meandered to the internal garage door, his expression thoughtful. He disappeared into the darkened garage, and they heard him rummaging through the outside fridge-freezer for soda cans, then the loud _thunk_ of him slamming the door. Rose had to smile a little bit; there was nothing like an innocent six-year-old kid and the things they could come out with. She knew that; she missed that, terribly.

Rose coerced Doug into giving up Finn's t-shirt, replacing it with a hand-towel, and soaked the t-shirt in warm water and detergent to get the blood out before it stained. John got his keys and took Doug to the hospital to get his nose checked out.

Finn let out a shaky breath and sat down at the kitchen-table as soon as the sound of John's Mercedes softened to a low hum and disappeared, looking pale and trembling, hanging his head.

"Are you alright?" Rose asked softly. Sean passed his little brother a new soda-can he'd just half-drained, and Finn took a sip, steadying his nerves. He passed it to Rose, who took a sip, and passed it back to Sean.

"I've just never seen them like that before," Finn said, his expression slack, eyes large and strangely hollow. Rose had to think that was a good thing, but at the same time, a horrible sense of foreboding crept over her.

"You haven't had fights before?" Rose asked.

"Not like that," Sean put in. Rose bit her lip.

"We'll have the occasional throwdown over a trashed skateboard or a lost CD, but _nothing_ like this," Finn said, his expression haunted.

"So, to say this isn't good—"

"Is a definite understatement," Sean said, downing the last of his soda.

"Sean, what's another word for balls?" Caleb asked innocently, his expression still pulled into a thoughtful frown.

"Go play with Ian, that's another word," Sean said, sending Caleb to the kitchen door with a pat on the butt to jumpstart him into moving. At the doorway, Caleb turned around, his expression jubilant, snapping his fingers.

"Nuts!"

* * *

The sound of movement outside her bedroom window woke Rose at midnight later that night. She hadn't really been sleeping; her brain had been too preoccupied with what had happened to rest, but she had been in that place between sleep and awake when the imagination takes over and everything is possible. And she was imagining nice things about shirtless Finn.

But those delicious thoughts were replaced by prickling nerves and raising hairs as those footsteps below her window made her contemplate which Supernatural monster it could be. She crept out of bed, and without turning on the lamps, tiptoed to the window, peering down into the yard through the curtains and blinds. Something was moving just beneath her window; a large cloth flicked out like a sheet and fanned out on the ground. She blinked, and everything came to focus in the crisp silvery moonlight.

It was Evan. And he was laying out a sleeping-bag.

Evan had been gone all of the afternoon and most of the evening; while Doug had sat sullen and quiet through dinner, Evan had been gone until after dark, and had gone directly upstairs. He hadn't apologised for almost breaking Doug's nose, for the two enormous black eyes he had given his brother…he had just gone upstairs, slammed the door, locked it, and put his music on so he no doubt couldn't hear his father's shouts for him to come out.

Well, he was out of his room now, and just because John was in bed didn't mean Rose was going to let the opportunity fly and _not_ give Evan McGowan what he really needed—another huge verbal spanking.

She grabbed her pink cotton robe from the back of her door and stumbled around her bedroom trying to find her slippers, then caught sight of her reflection. She had put rollers into her hair so it'd be curly tomorrow morning. _Oh, well; can't take them out now_, she thought. The boys had seen her first thing in the morning with a hangover; they could deal with her hair-rollers. She pulled on her robe, slipped her feet into her slippers and tiptoed downstairs.

Evan looked up when he heard the kitchen door open. He was just pushing his legs into his sleeping-bag.

"Hey," he said.

"Hey." Arms folded across her chest, she felt that righteous indignation she'd been feeling all afternoon, every time she thought about him beating the hell out of his little brother, and wondering _how_ he could bring himself to hit Doug, no matter what he did. She walked over to him and looked around the garden. There was no light illuminating the cracks of the shed door, nor the skylight, so Finn was probably upstairs doing homework or reading one of the art books she had let him borrow from her bookcase. "What're you doing out here?"

"My family used to do this at least once a summer, sleep out here under the stars," Evan said, directing her attention to the glorious night sky. The stars were bigger than Rose had ever seen them, twinkling and giggling, the moon enormous, gilded with silver, glowing. "I thought this might be one of the last warm nights."

Rose nodded and bit the inside of her cheek, still observing the stars. She wondered if they gazed back at her, and felt the desire to watch Stardust.

"So, I went to Hailey's this afternoon," Evan said quietly. Rose glanced down at Evan.

"What did she have to say for herself?" she asked coolly.

"Nothing. I never got to the door."

"You just sat in your car in her driveway for _hours_ without saying anything to her?" Rose said incredulously, glancing down at him again. "Well, you've succeeded in giving her enough time to get her story straight, that's for sure." Rose knew from experience (well, second-hand experience, observing Pogue's many, varied, failed relationships) that you nipped a confrontation in the bud before either of you could come up with excuses or stories.

"I just don't get it," Evan said. "Why would she tell him that I hooked up with you? Do you think it's possible she actually _thinks_ she saw us doing something?"

"I don't believe this!" Rose blurted, staring down at him. "You're actually looking for a plausible reason to forgive her for this. Evan, we were in the kitchen, drinking, we were _talking_ about _you two_. Whatever she saw or thought she saw was only in her imagination; ask anyone in that kitchen with us if we even _touched_ that night. The only contact we had was you handing me a drink."

Evan hadn't expected her to react like that; had he been hoping she'd help him sugar-coat this whole thing and enable him to forgive his girlfriend for sleeping with his brother. Well, she wasn't going to; she had seen how contrite and quiet Doug had been at dinner, had seen those two blossoming black eyes, and she wasn't going to forgive Evan for beating up his family.

"But, I mean…she told Doug we were done, and I know we never had _that_ conversation," Evan said, frowning. "She's just…making things up."

"Mm," Rose said.

"I just don't get it," Evan said. "How could you do all this to someone you cared about? I mean, obviously she doesn't give a crap about me. That's obvious now, right?"

"Well…based on my knowledge of high-school relationships, I'd say what she's doing is trying to protect herself," Rose said. She'd been thinking this over. Why would Hailey go and have sex with Doug—or anyone, for that matter.

"What do you mean?"

"She's trying to hurt you before you hurt her," Rose shrugged. "It's a classic move. Or, you know, she could've woken up today and not remembered a thing because she'd drunk so much."

"Do you really think so?" Evan asked hopefully.

"No!" Rose scoffed. "Like you said at the party, she knew what she was doing when she walked into Christian Todd's house."

"You know what? I don't want to talk about this anymore," Evan said. "Let's talk about something else."

"Like what?" Rose asked.

"Like, I don't know, what do you want to do after high school?" Evan asked. Easy question, complicated answer. She _was_ going to college; there were no ifs or buts about it; she was going. After that, all she really wanted was a family, the kind she'd had to live without.

"College," Rose shrugged.

"Any idea where?" Evan asked.

"Mm…I was thinking, maybe, Brown University," Rose said. Rose was a legacy; her mother had been a Manhattan debutante from a very old Connecticut family; they had been some of the first settlers. Rose had inherited all her ancient family's fortunes, and she could go to college anywhere she wanted, and if she didn't want to go to college, she could live in luxury for the rest of her life without lifting a finger. But she wasn't the type.

"Brown? Wow," Evan said, looking mildly impressed.

"What about you?" Rose asked.

"Well, I want to get the hell out of here, that's all I know," Evan said. "BC and New Hampshire are both trying to recruit me for hockey, but I'm thinking Michigan or Northwestern. Someplace that's at least a day's drive from here."

"Don't want any visitors, hm?" Rose said.

"At this point, I wouldn't mind never seeing this family again," Evan replied. Rose felt that like a blow to the chest. A great swell of anger and hurt swept over her.

"Take that back," she whispered—because a whisper was all she could manage with the blistering, tightening of her throat and the burning in her eyes. Suddenly, she remembered her purpose in coming down here—giving Evan McGowan an earful. And telling _her_ that he never wanted to see his family again—that would do it. "You forget you're talking to someone who has woken up in the middle of the night and told by a complete stranger that the only family she had in the world was dead. Don't you ask for that—don't you _dare_ ask for that," she cried softly, tears streaming like little rivers of lava down her cheeks, "not in front of me—don't you _dare_. You've no right to ask for that when all I've ever wanted is a family like yours."

"Rose… I… I didn't… I didn't mean…" Evan stammered, his eyes wide, his expression mortified. "I… I'm just so _angry_ at him."

"You're angry at Doug," Rose half-hissed. She had been thinking this over all afternoon. "You just asked me, how could Hailey hurt someone she was supposed to care about, didn't you. Let me ask you a few questions. How could you ever be angry or hurt enough to raise a hand against one of your brothers/ In ten years, Hailey Farmer will be nothing more than a bad memory you think of when you think about your worst ex-girlfriends. In ten years, Doug will still be your brother—and that's _if_ he forgives you for what you did to him today. You want to know what your life will be like without a family, I'll tell you, or maybe you can ask your mother how she's felt the last fifteen years not being able to talk to her sister."

"Rose, I—"

"I'm not finished!" Rose snapped. She was getting into her stride. Oh, this felt _so_ _good_. "You're mad at Doug for having sex with Hailey. Let me ask you; are you mad at _her_? Because unless it was statutory rape—which I highly doubt, because for all he's an ass, he's not an idiot, and he's not vicious—_she_ spread her legs, she didn't have them forced open. It takes two to have hard-core sex. She made the decision to have sex with Doug. Most likely, she'd drunk enough she didn't even know _who_ it was. It could have been anyone. It could have been _Darnell_. Would you have beaten up your best-friend? You know you wouldn't. So why would you beat your little brother—your _brother_, Evan—into a bloody pulp?"

"Rose, I—"

"I'm still not done," Rose said, raising her voice slightly. She thought she heard a noise in the house, but ignored it. "Tomorrow morning, I want you to take a good long look at Caleb, and think how you'd feel if doctors told you his heart was broken, and you had to watch him die. And when you see Doug, I want you to look at his black eyes and I want you to ask yourself whether you think he'll _ever_ forgive you. And when you see Hailey next, I want you to do two things; I want you to ask her to tell you the truth. Would it have mattered to her _what_ guys he let fuck her? And you _look _at her and decide whether you'd give up your brother, your _family_, for her. Because you put her first today when you beat the shit out of your brother, and just remember it was _she_ who spread her legs and invited him in the first place."

Propped up on his elbows, Evan's jaw was slack as he stared up at her, clearly lost for words. She waited for him to say something, _anything_, and when he just continued to stare, and blink occasionally, Rose huffed and stalked back to the house.

She felt _good_ after that little rant. She might have felt better if he'd argued, so she could rip into him some more, but she would take what she could get, and tiptoed back upstairs.

* * *

**A.N.**: There are so many things wrong with Evan's priorities in Kate Brian's book (I actually had to go searching through the book for the author's name, as I only know it as Megan Meade's Guide!).


	24. For Jax

**A.N.**: Okay, because of my new obsession with Supernatural, I got the sudden lightening-strike to my brain and thought, huh, Jensen Ackles would make a really good _Sean_. He's kind of the inspiration behind Miller's and Finn's lips and the dimples he has whenever he pouts. Rose would look like a teenaged Diane Kruger, because she has the best, most effortlessly beautiful hairstyles and is really unassumingly pretty. Evan would be, I think, Rob Pattinson, but from his movie Remember Me, not from the Twilight series.

Another note: I am considering rewriting my 'Little Women' fanfiction about Megan Meade's older-sister: I have posted two polls onto my profile, and would really love it if you would choose a name from among the ones I've picked. After _that_ poll closes (I might give you three or four days, depending on how quickly I anticipate _this_ fanfiction finishing) I'll put up another poll about which of the brothers should be the romantic lead. Thank you!

Oh, and I've changed Rose's father's name to Jackson, so his nickname is Jax.

* * *

**Rose Amongst Thorns**

Chapter Twenty-Four

_For Jax_

* * *

Sunday was devoted to homework and baseball; Rose finished her essay for English, her History notes, Miller helped her with her Math homework, and she worked on her sketchbook for Art with Finn in the shed. In the afternoon, the whole family (minus Doug) congregated in the best-room to watch the game on the big-screen television; Rose sat with Caleb in her lap, hugging him to her, while she and Miller continued their fact-question game during the commercial breaks, and Finn watched the game as well as working frantically in his sketchbook. Sean had come out of the barn, and his arms and hands and face were actually _clean_ of grease for once; he had even put his book away, and promised to teach Ian how to throw a curveball.

Evan didn't say a word to Rose, and Doug didn't say a word to _anyone_; he spent most of Sunday in his bedroom, annoyed with Miller for no reason and picking on the little ones without provocation.

After the game finished, Finn helped Rose vacuum the house and clean the bathroom and do laundry. Rose had to show him where the vacuum and the bathroom cleaning-supplies lived. Rose was ironing, listening to music from the stereo when Caleb sidled into the room, grinning sheepishly.

"Hey, kiddo," Rose smiled. Caleb walked up to her and swooned against her legs, gazing covetously up at her.

"Alone at last," he sighed, smiling up at her, hugging her knees. Rose burst out laughing; she didn't know _where_ he got the things he said, but he was just too darned cute for his own good. Rose reached down and rumpled his white-blonde curls.

"Not quite, Caley-boy," Finn said, striding into the best-room, his hair standing on end, and stinking of cleaning products. "Bathroom's done—I am _disgusted_ by our family."

"And that's after I spent two hours cleaning it last week," Rose said, raising her eyebrows pointedly.

"Yeah, we need to learn to clean up after ourselves," Finn grimaced. "Why're you trying to hump Rose's leg, Caleb?"

"I'm not!" Caleb squeaked indignantly. "I'm spending time with my lady."

"Your lady, huh?" Finn smirked, catching Rose's eye. "Well, your lady is busy folding your Spiderman underwear." Caleb blushed and peeked at the ironing-board, where Rose was indeed folding up little pairs of underwear; M&Ms, Smurfs, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, Spiderman, X-Men.

"Hands off my lingerie, you pervert!" Caleb half-shouted, making Rose jump, and she burst out laughing again as he scooped the underwear from the ironing-board, tucked them against his chest, and scuttled out of the room to the stairs.

"You embarrassed him," Finn chuckled, watching his brother run upstairs, and glanced at her, grinning.

"Me? I was just doing laundry," Rose laughed, plucking more garments out of the basket at her feet full with freshly-laundered clothing that needed folding quickly or ironing.

"You know, I reckon he has a little crush on you," Finn chuckled softly, grinning at Rose. She laughed.

"Oh, now I know you're joking," she giggled softly.

"Aw, come on; don't you remember how we acted toward each other when we were the same age as Caleb?" Finn grinned, walking over and helping fold coloured t-shirts into piles belonging to each brother.

"No, not really," Rose admitted, smiling.

"Well, _I_ do, mostly 'cause my parents _still_ tease me about it," Finn said, handing over one of her pretty tops. "You don't remember, that one time you came for Christmas and New Year, we sat at the top of the stairs watching our parents dance to Tom Jones 'cause they were so drunk on New Year's Eve?"

"I only remember that because I've seen the photos," Rose said, blushing, as she grinned. "They caught us kissing on camera."

"We were six," Finn laughed. "I have copies of those photos, too. I think it's a sad state of affairs that I reached my romantic peak at the age of six."

"You didn't," Rose smiled slowly, flicking her eyes at Finn, taking in those gorgeous features, the rich, thick curl of his lashes, the dimples at the corners of his mouth when he pouted those gorgeous lips.

Caleb came back downstairs, and went rifling through the basket of laundry, turning most of it out onto the carpet. "Caleb, what're you doing?" Rose stooped to pick up all the laundry he'd thrown out onto the carpet and quickly folded it before it could cool off and crease.

"Helping," he declared, dredging out a few more pairs of underwear, matching Spiderman and X-Men and Silver Surfer socks, and a pair of Spiderman pyjamas. "Rosie, I'm _bored_."

"Well, go clean your room," Rose suggested with a shrug.

"It is clean," Caleb said, wrinkling his nose.

"Then go and clean my room," Finn said. Caleb gave him a derisive look.

"Sean and Ian are in the backyard; why don't you go play with them?" Rose asked. Caleb pouted, dropped his laundry, and ran off. Rose stopped and picked up the clothing and folded it onto Caleb's pile. When the laundry was done, John's pristine white shirts ironed meticulously, Regina's skirts and blouses and career pants hung up in their closet, the boys' sheets changed and their clothes set out neatly on the end of their beds, Regina returned from a huge Costco binge with a few enormous Costco pizzas, hot parmesan pretzels and hot-dogs for dinner.

After dinner, Ian and Caleb had started having another water-fight when Rose and Finn left the house to go down to the shed; Sean had grabbed the hose and, foolishly, given it to Caleb. Rose jumped and her back snapped straight and shivers went through her as icy water splashed hard against her back. Finn yelled as water doused him, too. They exchanged a look, and glanced over their shoulders; Caleb was trying to hide the hose nozzle behind his back, looking superbly guilty; Ian had filled a bucket with water and was refilling a water-gun. Half an hour later, Rose was screaming at the top of her lungs as Finn ran through the yard, his arm locked around her waist, using _her_ as a shield against the hosepipe now in Ian's hands; Caleb was running around like a lunatic in a soaking-wet basketball jersey and jeans, having the time of his life, and Sean and the twins had joined them, using plastic cups and buckets and water-guns to attack each other; Doug sat in the climbing-tree with a huge water-gun and a supply of water-balloons he dropped right on their heads whenever they foolishly stepped under the circumference of the tree's branches.

They were all soaked to the skin, and the hair Rose had so carefully arranged in curlers last night was now slick and clinging to her scalp and neck and most of her face, unable to see anything as Ian attacked her with the hose and Finn used her to dodge the spray; Sean was laughing deeply, and she had seen Doug grinning with delight a few times, which was rare; Miller was having a whale of a time dousing Sean and his little brothers with water-balloons, and all the time, Rose could hear Regina laughing in the kitchen, watching them.

Considering how the weekend had begun, Rose was glad of the water-fight, even if her top did go see-through and her legs were covered in goose-bumps because she'd worn shorts, because Doug's bad mood lifted, Sean actually interacted with the family, Rose became Sergeant General of her team, which included Ian, Caleb and Miller, after the older boys ganged up on them, leading them to ambushing the other team to victory behind the shed.

John had made his special chocolate-brownie-and-Reese's-peanut-butter milkshakes when they got in, draped in beach-towels, for a Sunday-night treat, and despite their grounding, Rose and Finn were allowed to join the family down in the den to watch Back to the Future. Caleb curled up in Rose's lap, Miller sat beside her, resting his head on her shoulder, and Finn curled up on her other side, and Rose couldn't think of anywhere else she would rather be at that moment.

Her eyes burned with tears as she thought about Lucia, with Caleb squirming the same way Lucia used to as he watched the movie.

* * *

After Rose had showered, she was putting her hair into rollers again, dressed in her pyjamas, when there was a soft knock on the door, and John entered the room, smiling.

"Hey," he said, bringing with him a medium-sized cardboard box.

"Hi," Rose smiled, tucking a lock of hair into a roller and pressing in place. She glanced at the box. "What's that?" John glanced at the box before setting it down on the bench at the end of her bed.

"This box contains all the stuff I could dig up from college when I looked up in the attic today," John said, grinning. "I'm still looking through most of it." Rose sat up, pausing; she eyed the box as John carefully opened the cardboard flaps. She went up on her knees and crawled to the end of the bed, peering curiously into the box; she saw a stack of vinyl records pushed against the side of the box, folded up posters and packets fat with photographs, cassette mix-tapes, concert memorabilia including vintage concert t-shirts, books, letters, cards, pins and badges, drawings and scrapbook albums that had her mother's influence all over them.

"And _this_," John said, pulling something out of the very bottom of the box, "was your dad's." John unfolded the buttery black leather, which was sewn with patches and studs and even rhinestones. It was a leather jacket. It wasn't just _any_ leather jacket; it was a real rock-star's jacket, lined with red Harley motorcycle-patterned silk, the most fabulous leather biker jacket Rose had ever seen outside of an 80s rock music-video, with awesome lapels and zips and a buckle at the hem, an almost asymmetric zip, and a swirling fiery phoenix design that looked like it had almost been embossed on the back, with dull, almost completely faded gold that glowed subtly in the lamplight.

"Wow," Rose gaped, taking the jacket from John when he offered it, feeling how soft the buttery leather was, and how _small_ the jacket seemed. "Daddy was skinny in college."

"He was, he was a skinny guy. Until sophomore year and he was damn _scary_," John said, chuckling. "I think your mom bought him that jacket and took it apart and lined it with that Harley material, and sewed all the other stuff onto it."

"That sounds like something she'd do," Rose said softly, smiling as she looked over the different patches and the faded, worn badges scratched up and dented. Her mother had been the one who was absolutely addicted to artwork; she would come home almost daily with a package tucked under her arm, looking very guilty; Rose's daddy used to look over the top of his book and ask 'What have you bought _now_?' Her mother loved anything creative; painting, sculpture, photography, architecture, fashion, music. The entire house had been dripping with culture, photographs and paintings and sculptures and statues and books had been _everywhere_. Up until last year, every dress Rose had worn to a special event had been made by her mother, and Rose had been heavily influenced by her mother's love of the Arts. This jacket had her mother written all over it. "How come you had it?"

"I…I don't _know_, exactly," John frowned. "I was just digging through my old dormer trunk and I found it with a bunch of sheet-music and lyrics your dad wrote."

"Dad wrote songs?" Rose asked, laughing. She got her addiction to written word from her dad.

"Yeah," John grinned. "Back when we were in a band. A semi-successful band, at that; we had two dedicated groupies!"

"Urgh!" Rose cringed, clenching her eyes shut, as John laughed. "Don't tell me _that_. I don't need that in my mind!"

"Well, I'm gonna head to bed, so I'll leave you to look through all this stuff," John smiled. "It's all yours, by the way, if you want it."

"Thanks," Rose said quietly, glancing down and pausing as she opened the first page of a scrapbook album, which featured one single Polaroid candid, of her parents and John and Regina. It had definitely been taken in the 80s, because Regina's hair had been permed and teased and was _huge_, and Rose's mother had pulled off the young-Brooke Shields gorgeous look with long, thick wavy hair, dark smoky eyes, dark lipstick and big earrings; Regina wore a black leather dress and red leather jacket, black lace fingerless mitts and stacked bracelets, and Rose's mother wore a teeny-tiny mini-skirt, fishnets, leather boots, stacked necklaces and a denim jacket; their earrings were as bold as their eye-makeup, and their eyebrows were unruly a la Brooke Shields and Madonna. Her dad…her dad looked like Rick Savage; he had a permed mop of out-of-control, crazy curly dirty-blonde hair that obscured everything but his grin, and he wore the jacket Rose held in her lap, greasy, ripped jeans, heavy silver rings and bracelets; John had a mullet, and wore a leather vest covered with patches, a frayed t-shirt and tight cigarette-leg jeans. They were all grinning hugely and laughing; Rose felt an ache in her chest, wishing she had been there to know what they had been laughing at, who had taken the picture, where they had been.

"Oh," John said, catching himself at the door; Rose glanced up. "Be sure and tease Regina about her hairdo."

"I will," Rose laughed softly, glancing back at the photo. Regina really had been the poster-girl for 80s alternative-punk fashion.

Rose finished putting her hair in curlers, and spent the rest of the night going through the cardboard box. There were hundreds of photographs, and even better, John had kept the negatives in pristine condition, mostly because they hadn't been looked at after the photographs were initially printed. There was a collection of all Rose's favourite albums on vinyl records, and cassette mix-tapes her dad had made for her mom, paintings her mom had done, scrapbooks she had made filled with concert and college memorabilia, and the t-shirts were both her mother's and her father's. Rose tried on her father's leather jacket, and it fit so snug and perfect that she didn't want to take it off. There was a dilapidated journal filled with lyrics in her father's handwriting, which chronicled his high-school and college years, the later works being dedicated to Lil, and it was fascinating to read into her parents' early relationship through the lyrics her dad wrote. There was even an old camera that would be worth a lot of money if she were to auction it on eBay and there was a small tobacco tin in which was kept a collection of concert ticket stubs, wristbands and fliers for bands playing live. There was an original movie poster of Brooke Shields in The Blue Lagoon, signed "To Jax" by the actors, and which instantly went up on Rose's bedroom wall. There were books so packed with notes in the margins and between the lines that she could barely read the text, a tiny bottle filled with sand from a Cape Cod beach, dated _August 30__th__, 1982_, and a tin containing those heavy silver rings and necklaces her dad wore in the photograph.

Rose picked out a select few photographs to put in frames and put the t-shirts in her laundry basket to wash so she could wear them, and made a mental note to turn the hundreds of photographs into albums, and to ask John and Regina for comments on them so that, in twenty years, Rose could tell her children about their grandparents' crazy ways at college.

* * *

PLEASE VOTE IN MY POLL!

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**A.N.**: I kind of liked the idea of John turning up with a box overflowing with old vintage concert t-shirts and a ton of photographs and _stuff_ her parents would have kept from their time at college; the jacket of Jax Meade's is inspired by the jackets worn by _Def_ _Leppard_ in their 'Rocket' video.


	25. Fustercluck

**A.N.**: Hi. Okay, I really, _really_ have to finish this fanfiction, like, to the _end_, because I went to watch _Eclipse_ last night with my friend, and now I really want to rewrite my fanfic called 'Dallas Rose'.

Please Vote In My Poll!

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**Rose Amongst Thorns**

Chapter Twenty-Five

_Fustercluck_

* * *

It was like the previous week all over again; Rose was sure she'd felt the fine hairs at the back of her neck prickle as if people were watching her; she was sure they had all pointed her out in the halls and whispered about her when they thought she didn't notice.

_What've I done wrong this time_? Rose thought, as she approached her locker, ready to grab her textbook before heading off to History. Ria and Pearl were at Pearl's locker a few down from Rose's.

"Hi," Rose smiled, seeing them. "How was the rest of your weekend?"

Pearl's face filled up with colour and she dropped to the floor to shove some books into her bag. "Fine," she said, avoiding Rose's eyes. "It was…fine."

"I think the real question is, how was yours?" Ria asked, holding the strap on her messenger bag with both hands. Rose blinked at her, feeling that prickling, uneasy sensation again. Maybe it was the pack of people—girls, probably seniors, and part of the popular crowd, most likely—that glared at her as they walked past.

Rose wanted to tell them about the epic water-fight with the twins, Sean, Ian and Caleb, and watching Back to the Future eating John McGowan's famous chocolate-brownie-and-Reese's-peanut-butter-cup milkshakes. But the look in Ria's eyes… Rose didn't like it.

"What's wrong?" she asked quietly, blinking bemusedly at Ria. "Did I do something?" She knew she hadn't been that drunk at the party on Friday night; for one, when Evan had disappeared she had been too worried about her truck, and trying to search for Finn had taken up most of her time before she'd left with Aimee, Jenna and Bobby. By the time Jenna had told them all about seeing Hailey and Doug in the woods, Jenna and Pearl had already left Christian Todd's to get food, so unless Rose had done something to Ria when they were dancing in the back porch, she didn't know what she had done to upset her.

"You tell me," Ria said, eyeing her expectantly.

"We gotta go," Pearl said, tugging on Ria's sleeve. "We have that homework we're gonna go over, right?"

"Yeah. See ya," Ria said dismissively. Rose blinked, an unsettling feeling of having been both insulted and brushed off sinking into the pit of her stomach. She turned to her combination lock and focused entirely on the numbers.

"Hey," Aimee said, walking over. She looked tired as she leaned back against the wall next to Rose's locker. She let out a sigh and trained her eyes on the ground.

"Hi," Rose said softly, taking out her History textbook. She licked her lips nervously and glanced around. Different clusters of girls were watching her and whispering, and blushing and turning away quickly when they saw she'd noticed. "I feel like we've been here before, but…Can I ask you something?"

"Go ahead."

"Why do all those girls keep staring at me?" Rose asked in an undertone.

"Oh. About that," Aimee said, looking guilty and nauseated. "I think it's kind of gotten around that you and Evan hooked up on Friday night and that it's your fault Evan and Hailey broke up."

Rose stared.

"The last I heard from Evan, on Saturday night, _he_ didn't know they were broken up," Rose said, frowning. "And I definitely did not _kiss_ Evan McGowan. I did have fun ripping him to shreds after he tried to put Doug in the hospital Saturday afternoon. I'd never fool around with someone else's boyfriend. Who told them I'd do something like that?"

"I have no idea," Aimee sighed heavily, "but that's what they're all saying."

"Great," Rose moaned. There was nothing like vicious rumours to make home-life extremely uncomfortable.

"Evan and Hailey were like the star couple around here," Aimee whispered. "Like Brad and Jen. Everyone looks up to them. If they think he cheated on her with you…"

"You're comparing me to Angelina Jolie. I don't know whether to be flattered or insulted," Rose said. "But he _didn't_—I _didn't_. _Hailey_ had sex with Doug. We were talking in the kitchen about Evan not wanting to be seen with me at the party in case something like _this_ happened, and then Hailey walked in and started freaking out—we did _not_ hook up."

"I believed you on Friday and I believe you now," Aimee said, giving her a small, encouraging smile. "It's just the rest of the school you have to worry about." Rose smiled.

"As long as you know the truth, I don't care about what anybody else thinks," she said quietly. Aimee smiled, and they walked off to their classes together.

Miller stepped away from the wall outside the cafeteria doors when Rose approached. She couldn't have been more surprised to find him waiting for her if he had been standing there naked—mostly because the McGowans had no sense of shyness about their naked flesh.

"Hi, Miller," Rose smiled.

"Hi," he replied, following her into the cafeteria. "Are we sitting inside again?"

"It's not a game-day, is it?" Rose asked.

"No, it's a travel day," Miller said. Rose smiled, and glanced at the courtyard. This morning it had been overcast and almost gloomy; she had had to wear a—_gag!_—jacket. It was the really nice dark-grey wool pea coat with the flared cropped sleeves and wide lapels that made the collar stand up at the back of her neck, and double-breasted buttons. But still, it was a _jacket_. Rose had never worn a jacket in over seven years! It was unnatural for her to have to wear layers. Outside in the courtyard, it was quite dark and dreary; rain periodically spattered the wall of windows.

"It looks like it's going to rain a little more anyway," Rose said. Miller nodded.

"It looks like it's going to rain more anyway," he repeated, set his jaw, and strode defiantly to the lunch-line. This was new; Rose had had to get his lunch for him last time they'd sat inside. This was a lot more progress.

"Why Evan McGowan would fool around with _her_ I have no idea," some girl said to her friend as they walked by Rose, their expressions condescending and completely unkind.

"_Damn_, she _is_ hot," said one of Darnell's football buddies as he and Darnell stacked trays with burgers and fries. "No wonder Ev wanted to tap that ass." Darnell rolled his eyes, saw she was looking, and shot her a grin, and told her to "keep your chin up," when he walked past her.

Rose picked out a bowl of hot clam chowder soup and a crusty roll, a cup of strawberries and bananas blended with yoghurt and peanut-butter and topped with honey-granola and freshly-cut bananas, an orange juice and a pack of Reese's Peanut-Butter Cups. Miller led the way to an as-yet-unclaimed table and sat down, quickly arranging his tray, his bag on the seat beside his. Rose sat down and followed suit, organising her parfait cup, juice and candy in a row.

She watched Miller grinning behind his roll; he had chosen the same soup as she had, and had to smile when his eyes twinkled and glowed the way they did. Feeling giddy and inexplicably proud of Miller, Rose was onto her parfait when the cafeteria doors opened and Evan strode in. His jaw was clenched and his eyes were narrowed to slits. He looked like a man on a mission.

Hailey's table was in the centre row near the front of the room. Her friends grew hushed as Evan approached. Every soul in the cafeteria was either watching Evan to see what would happen or pointedly staring at their food in an attempt to pretend like they weren't interested. He paused next to Hailey's chair. She didn't look at him. Rose frowned heavily over at them. Was Evan going to take the advice Rose had given him during her rant on Saturday night? As far as she could tell, Evan hadn't said a word to Doug since beating the hell out of him Saturday afternoon.

"Can I talk to you?" he asked.

"Sure," Hailey said, placing her bagel crust down on her plate, where all the innards had been scraped out. "Go ahead."

"Outside," Evan said coolly. Hailey cast a look at her friends, then sighed heavily, as if it was the hardest thing in the world for her to do, to press her hands onto the tabletop and haul herself out of her seat. Evan stepped aside so she could lead the way out into the courtyard. As they passed her table, Rose frowned and flicked her eyebrow up as Evan caught her eye; Hailey didn't even look at her.

The prickling of the fine hairs at the back of her neck made Rose realise she was now the centre of everybody's attention. Rose just shook her head slightly and devoted herself to her parfait; it tasted _really_ good.

The second the door closed behind Evan and Hailey, the room erupted into supercharged chatter. The guys at the next table threw their money down between their trays, taking odds on whether Hailey would smack Evan first or vice versa. Miller just sat there, carefully eating his lunch, and Rose followed his example. Somewhat—she was curious what Evan would say to Hailey.

Evan was gesticulating wildly while Hailey stood there, her arms crossed tightly over her chest, looking as if she was trying very hard to look tough and fierce but all the while concealing how vulnerable she was because she knew she was way too far up that creek with no paddles.

The door was suddenly yanked open and Hailey rushed in, looking stricken and teary-eyed. She ran for the bathroom and a few of her girlfriends got up and followed. _She's a fabulous actress_, Rose thought unkindly. Drama over; Rose opened her pack of Reese's Peanut-Butter Cups and offered Miller one; he smiled and accepted it, and when Rose glanced into the courtyard, Evan was gone.

* * *

Having driven herself to school this morning, because Ian and Caleb had missed their school-bus and she'd given them a ride instead of making Regina late for work, Rose drove herself home after practice.

Hailey hadn't shown up for practice; her friends on the team had blindsided Rose all afternoon. No one but Aimee and Miller had said a word to her all day, and now she was going to have to concentrate on three hours of homework, which included a double-dose of problems Mr Jones had set her for practice because she was so crap at math and worried about the first quiz on Thursday.

She grabbed snacks from the kitchen and sighed heavily, catching Finn's eye and smiling when he emerged from the garden with his hair tousled and streaked with paint, and his hands covered in dried paint.

"Hey," he cracked his slow, charming grin. "You wanna come hang out in the shed?"

"I do, yeah," Rose sighed heavily, feeling the weight of the world on her shoulders, "but I can't. Mr Jones gave me an extra assignment in Math today that I have to work on for practice for our first quiz, so that'll probably take me until midnight to finish."

"Oh. Okay," Finn smiled forgivingly. "Why don't you ask Miller to help you—he used to help _Sean_ with his calculus homework."

"I may do that," Rose sighed. "Well…if I don't kill myself over my math homework, I'll try and come down and see you."

"Cool," Finn dimpled. Rose hauled her snacks and textbooks into her arms and strode into the hallway, glancing up the stairs.

Caleb, standing at the top of the stairs in the hall, was decked out in some of her gauzy, floaty tops, a boa-like scarf and glittering necklaces draped around his neck, a ton of bracelets and bangles, a rhinestone headband, a belt wrapped twice around his little waist, a pair of her red-rhinestone Louboutin pumps and Barbie-pink lipstick she'd used for her Cheerleader Barbie outfit for her friend's costume birthday-party.

"Caleb! Take those high-heels off! You're gonna break your neck!" Rose ordered, and he giggled. Finn emerged into the hallway with his digital-camera (which he never went anywhere without putting in his jeans pocket) and burst out laughing as his littlest brother gurgled a laugh and pouted at the camera.

"Oh, he's gonna regret this at his wedding," Finn said, chuckling as he looked through the photographs he'd snapped. Rose laughed and hurried upstairs; Caleb giggled and clomped into her bedroom.

"Caleb, take those shoes off; you've no _idea_ how much money they're worth," Rose said, following him in. It looked like her closet had exploded, and she sighed heavily as Caleb went to sit on her bed, her heels clomping onto the floor because they couldn't stay on his feet. If it had been any other day, Rose would have just laughed and encouraged Caleb to parade around the house in her clothes and accessories; as it was, she wasn't in the mood, and helped extricate little Caleb from all of her things, wiped the pink lipstick off his mouth, and sent him on his way; she had to tidy up the mess Caleb had made rifling through her closet, put her accessories back in their proper places and checked the heels of her Louboutin shoes in case they were in danger of snapping.

She organised her homework and notebooks and grabbed her Math textbook and notebook and sighed heavily, checking the page and question numbers in her homework organiser, turned her iPod onto Tom Jones, picked up her pencil and started to work.

She didn't notice anyone was in her room until her music suddenly cut off; she glanced at her iPod and noticed someone's hand hovering over it; she glanced up and blinked as she plucked her earphones out.

"Evan?" she said, surprised; Evan _never_ came in her room. "Hi. Hang on a sec, let me just finish this problem, and then I'm _done_ with my math homework." She frowned and focused on the last problem she had written meticulously in her notebook, the last of three columns to each page. Getting frustrated that she had been interrupted and therefore had lost her mojo, she tried to get back into her homework, glaring at the textbook and her notebook.

Evan slammed her textbook shut. Rose stared at it, and then blinked up at Evan. "Something wrong?"

"I just want to know why you did it," Evan said, squaring off in front of her desk. "Just tell me what in the hell would make you lie like that." Rose frowned, brain working on overdrive trying to catch up to wherever Evan was.

"I have no idea what you're going on about," Rose frowned bemusedly.

"Right!" Evan scoffed. "I know what you did, Rose."

"And what is that?" Rose asked, bristling.

"Don't give me the innocent act," Evan said loudly. "I'm not falling for it again."

"Act? What act?" Rose asked.

"Rose, come on! I know you told Hailey that we hooked up," Evan fumed.

"Ew," Rose grimaced, taken aback. "A, why would I ever hook up with you and B, why would I ever go and talk to Hailey?"

"She told me! She told me how you came to her and told her you just thought she should know the truth," Evan said. "Do you even know what that word means?"

"When would I have told her that, Evan? Between me driving off in my truck _looking_ for her because you'd thought she'd left the party and her having sex with Doug? Or maybe, was it when I was searching all over Christian Todd's house looking for Finn so I could get a ride home?" Rose asked, her nerves bristling and burning with indignation.

"Nice try," Evan snarled, his expression snide. "She told me everything. How after I left, you went and found her in the solarium and told her that I'd kissed you and acted like you were just trying to be honest and take the high road or something."

"Well, I see she's got her story all worked out," Rose said coolly, standing up and glaring up at Evan.

"Her _story_?" Evan glared incredulously. "You're accusing _her_ of lying?"

"Well, she did have sex with your brother, so I doubt she's very conscientious of lying to your face," Rose said cuttingly. Angry colour rose in Evan's cheeks, and his eyes crackled fiercely. "I never went looking for Hailey, and I'd _never_ tell a lie about kissing someone else's boyfriend, _never_."

"You never did any of that?" Evan said sarcastically, his smile cruel.

"No!"

"So, what, you're telling me that Hailey's just making stuff up?" Evan said contemptuously, eyes flashing.

"Well, it would appear so," Rose snapped.

"Are you kidding me? You're really going to stand there and deny this to my face?" Evan shouted. Rose bristled. "Why the hell else would Hailey go off and sleep with Doug?"

"_I DON'T KNOW_!" Rose shouted back. "Maybe because your girlfriend's a psycho jealous bitch and _HE'S PROBABLY A BETTER FUCK THAN YOU!_"

Rose didn't see what happened next; one moment, Evan was glaring at her as if the Devil possessed him, the next second, her eye was exploding with pain, the sound of a backhanded-slap reverberating off the walls.

Evan's whole demeanour changed in the next instant; he gasped hollowly, eyes widening in horror, his expression falling slack in shock, as Rose clutched the right-side of her face, where her eye felt like it was going to explode, and her cheekbone stung like it had been doused with acid.

"Rose, I—"

She didn't stick around for excuses or apologies; she grabbed her purse and ran downstairs, out of the house, and into her truck, her mind numb and saturated with pain and humiliation and hurt. At that moment, she didn't care if she _was_ grounded. She had to leave that house. She put the truck in gear and lurched out of the McGowans' land and onto the street; at the crossroads, she was sure it was Regina's car she saw, but her eyes were too blurred with hot tears that didn't fall to see in through the windshield. She would probably get grounded for this again, but at the moment, she couldn't bring herself to care. The way things were at school, she doubted she'd be invited to any parties in the near future anyway, and after the way Ria and Pearl and even Jenna had dropped her like a hot potato at the first sign of rumours, she wouldn't be accepting any shopping or movie invitations from them anyway.

Rose was a shopping-binger. Whenever she got upset—really, _really_ upset—she spent money, just like her mother did, although Rose was less extravagant. But she had a high-school trust-fund to keep her in anything she could want for the next two years, and after she turned eighteen she'd have unimpeded access to all her family's money. And there had been one store she'd been dying to look into since she'd first seen it; the scrapbooking and craft store in the Sunol Boulevard plaza.

Rose spent a _lot_ of money at _MA Stampin'_.

She bought a new scrapbook album, filler sleeves, a ton of beautiful papers, new stamps, ink pads, decorative brads, a ton of stickers, ribbons, embellishments, craft punches, glues and adhesives, magazines, pens, rub-on transfers, die-cuts, buttons, and several photograph albums. She was planning a scrapbook for Lucia, which was why all the stickers and papers were floral patterns and pretty colours and the stickers were all fairies and sweet cartoon animals and 'sister'-themed and cupcakes and strawberries and picnics, ballet and hearts, seashells and pretty fish, flowers and 'dress-up.' Lucia had loved pretty things.

She got the photograph albums to organise the photographs John had given her last night, and she spent a long time looking at knitting needles, magazines and yarns, planning scarves and gloves and hats and legwarmers she knew she would need in winter. She got into a long conversation with the owner, Suzanne, who wanted to know basically Rose's life-story, and if she had been scrapbooking long, and whether she was any good at knitting. Rose paid for all of her stuff, said goodbye to Suzanne and Daisy the resident cat, and climbed into her truck, carefully not crushing the paper or stickers or anything.

Regina's car was parked by the house when Rose directed the truck into the McGowans' property; taking a deep breath, Rose parked up the truck outside the barn, gathered all of her stuff (which was damn heavy for what it was) and let herself in the house. She got all of her new things into her bedroom before anyone knew she was back, but when John got home two minutes after her, bearing dinner, Regina was waiting at the bottom of the stairs, hand on her hip, looking determined.

She did a double-take when she saw Rose. Was guilt written all over her face? Rose was pretty impulsive when she was upset, and she had spent a lot of money in Massachusetts Stampin'.

"Hey," Regina said quietly, eyes trained on Rose's face. "I thought I saw you leaving when I got home." Busted. Rose flushed and nodded, feeling herself shrink.

"I…Evan and I had an argument, and I had to…get away from the house for a bit," Rose said honestly, glancing at Regina. "I know I'm grounded, I just…"

"Sweetie, trust me; I know how it feels to need to get away from here," Regina said. The expression in her clear blue eyes was calm but deadly. "Did Evan give you that bruise?"

"What bruise?" Rose asked, frowning.

"That shiner around your eye," Regina frowned dangerously; Rose blinked and dropped down the stairs, walking to the big hallway mirror. She blinked. Her right cheekbone was a reddish-purple colour in one place just at the corner under her eye, but that was it. She hadn't realised he'd actually left a mark. No wonder the girls at Massachusetts Stampin' had been giving her worried glances.

"Oh," Rose said quietly. It looked worse than it felt; having binged on scrapbooking stuff, she felt a little bit better, not as hurt and humiliated about having been _hit_. Nobody had ever hit her before—her mom had never even slapped her for mouthing off, because Rose never _did_ mouth-off. To anyone except the McGowan boys, it seemed. They knew how to press her buttons in a certain way that didn't require her slow-burning long fuse; she just exploded with them. "No. It must've happened during cross-country practice."

"Mm," Regina said, unconvinced. "I might've believed you, if I hadn't seen Tara Smith at the supermarket on my way home and she told me you'd had your best practice yet because Hailey Farmer wasn't there trying to kill you." Rose gulped. _Oh, no_, she thought, her stomach tightening. This wouldn't happen—couldn't. They couldn't go after Evan for smacking her one. "Rose."

"I don't think he meant it," she mumbled, flicking her glance to Regina and down at the floor, cheeks and throat burning with heat.

"It just slipped, is that it? What were you two arguing about?" Regina asked cuttingly.

"About…we were arguing about Evan's girlfriend," Rose said, flushing hotly, remembering how she'd cussed at Evan and taunted him about Doug being a better lay than him.

"Ah. Say no more," Regina asked; Rose stared up at her with wide eyes. Regina offered a knowing, indulgent smile. "What's she accusing you of?"

"Evan said Hailey had told him _I'd_ come to her and said we'd kissed at Christian Todd's party," Rose said, her face flushing with anger as she narrowed her eyes, the injustice still rankling.

"That _Hailey_," Regina half-growled, her eyes narrowing to slits, complete and utter dislike clouding her still-beautiful face. Regina's beauty had done a stunning job of holding on to her. She was just as if not more beautiful than she had been as a young-adult. Right now, though, she looked dangerous. "She's been jerking Evan around since they started dating. Well, come on; John brought takeout home for dinner. We'll deal with Evan later."

The boys had already thronged around the kitchen-table, while John was trying valiantly to get the Italian takeout from the big paper bags the restaurant had packed it all in. Caleb and Ian were racing around the room arguing and begging for food; the twins were arguing about something, Sean was reading while he grabbed knives, forks and plates, and almost dropped everything when Caleb and Ian raced past his knees.

"Ian! Caleb! Chill or be chilled!" Rose called, and the little ones exchanged a glance and went to sit at the table, calmer, if still moaning for food and arguing childishly. John and Regina's expressions were memorable, to say the least, seeing their most rebellious children obey orders. Finn emerged stinking of oil paints from the shed, his hands caked in dried paint, paint smeared on his t-shirt, forehead and streaked through his hair.

"Did the paint-pots stage a _coup_ _d'état_?" Rose asked, surprised; this was messy even by Finn's standards. Finn just grinned and grabbed cups and sodas from the fridge.

Rose didn't know where John had got takeout from, but it was gorgeous food: there were several different appetisers; pizza-base garlic bread with melted cheese, crispy artichoke hearts, crab cakes, warm spinach and mushroom dip and warm pizza-base bread, stuffed and baked mushrooms with garlic sauce; there were several soups, tortilla soup, minestrone; there was a big chicken Caesar salad; there were several pizzas; pear and gorgonzola, roasted artichoke and spinach, a pizza with every topping, and a Jamaican jerk-chicken pizza; there were tubs of creamy spaghetti carbonara, Bolognese, four-cheese ravioli, curly macaroni and cheese and a big lasagne. And everything was quickly divvied out between them when they all sat down to eat. When there was food in front of them, there was no room for thought of anything else. Rose tried each of the appetisers, tortilla soup, a slice of pear and gorgonzola pizza and a slice of roasted artichoke and spinach pizza, four-cheese ravioli and the curly mac-and-cheese and went back for another crab-cake and stuffed and baked mushrooms.

After dinner, Rose had to go upstairs and finish her math homework, start on her English reading, plan and make notes for her next History essay, 'Name External Factors that Caused the American Revolution.' She worked a little in her sketchbook, wrote some stuff for her French portfolio-book Monsieur Gilliard made each of his students create every year full of essays and things to show their progression throughout the year, and tried not to hear John and Regina shouting at Evan next-door. She had finished her homework and was sitting cross-legged on her bed, going through everything she had bought at Massachusetts Stampin' and putting together different scrapbook pages, matching papers, stickers, brads, ribbons and stamps, when there was a knock on her door. She paused her CD and called for whoever it was to come in.

It was Regina. Feeling heat flushing her cheeks, she wondered just how mad Evan was at her now. She had _tried_ to make it seem like tripping over during practice had caused her bruise, but Regina was one _smart_ woman.

"Hey," Rose said warily, glancing at Evan's bedroom-door over Regina's shoulder.

"Hi," Regina smiled, entering her room; she walked over to Rose's bed and sank carefully onto the mattress beside her. "Wow. Did you knock over a craft store?"

"No!" Rose said quickly, blushing. "I…I kind of went a little crazy in Massachusetts Stampin'."

"Ah, that explains it," Regina said, with a sympathising smile. "That place can get you when you least expect it. This is such beautiful paper." She picked up a sheet of pearly pale-green paper that shimmered like silk, which was printed with rusty irises gilded with a mother-of-pearl sheen when light hit them. "So what's all this going to be used for?"

"Um…" Rose bit the inside of her cheek and looked around at all the stuff she'd bought and spread out on her bed, and the stacks of thousands of photographs she'd brought out from storage in her closet. "Lucia."

"Lucia?" Regina said carefully, glancing at Rose.

"Yeah," Rose said slowly. "I have all these photographs, but I never got round to putting them in albums. I mean, there's a _ton_ of them; they've been stored in a plastic box for ages. I thought…I thought I'd start working on a scrapbook now, since I'm grounded." Regina watched her carefully, and then smiled.

"I think that's a great idea," she said softly. "Well, I'm going up to bed now, so goodnight."

"Goodnight," Rose smiled, and Regina kissed her head and left the room, closing the door quietly behind her, leaving Rose to listen to music and create outlines for a scrapbook album to commemorate her little sister's short life.

* * *

**A.N.**: Please review!


	26. Sabotage

**A.N.**: Okay, I need your help with another Megan Meade's Guide fanfiction; I'm _going_ to rewrite my fanfiction 'Little Women,' redesigning it, and I want your opinions on the name of Megan's pretty, brunette older-sister, and which of the brothers she should end up with.

The names to choose from are Ella, Samantha "Sammy," Cecily, Tamsin, Poppy, Evelyn "Evie" and Astrid. For middle-names I'm thinking Violet, Isidore, Iris or Elizabeth. If you could review and _in_ that review, tell me what you think, I'd really appreciate it.

* * *

**Rose Amongst Thorns**

Chapter Twenty-Six

_Sabotage_

* * *

Rose pinned her hair in a low, twisted knot side-bun at the base of her neck, pressed her hair to make sure it stayed, picked out her 'Money, Honey' MAC Dazzleglass lip-gloss and swept it over her lips, put it in her little cosmetics bag for reapplication later, smoothed her dad's vintage Def Leppard 'Hysteria' t-shirt, shoved her things into her purse and walked into the hallway.

She had slept a little later than usual, because she had been up half the night first thinking of Lucia, then of Evan and their fight and him slapping her, and John and Regina yelling at Evan after dinner, but she hadn't thought she'd been _that_ late, because when she got downstairs, only Ian and Caleb were still in the kitchen, putting their breakfast bowls in the dishwasher.

"Hey kiddos," Rose said, smiling; she glanced around. The rest of the boys obviously hadn't been abducted, because the carnage of the kitchen table and the island could only have been created by teenage boys without boundaries. "Where is everyone?"

"Gone."

"What do you mean, gone?" Rose asked, blinking bemusedly.

"Gone. To school," Ian said flatly. "Come on, Caleb. We're gonna miss the bus."

Caleb picked up his Spiderman backpack and, hand-in-hand, the boys headed for the door. Caleb glanced over his shoulder as she followed, his expression tortured and a little upset, his eyes wide and sad. Rose wondered why. She waved him off, and the two boys walked down the lawn to the gate, and the street beyond, which was blocked from view by a boundary of old trees.

Rose checked the lawn, and the barn. Empty, except for her truck. Realisation hit, and her eyes burned. They had left without her. _Evan_ had left without her.

_No big deal_, she said, trying to keep her nerves from jumping about all over the place. _I'll just be a little late_.

She headed over to her truck, but when she neared it, she realised something was wrong. _Very _wrong. As she approached, she saw that the back two tires were completely deflated. Her jaw dropped, and she circled her truck. _All_ of the tires were deflated; someone had actually, purposefully let the air out of them.

It was indescribable the kind of hurt she felt at that realisation, that one of the McGowans would do something like that to her.

Those flat tires were a declaration of war, plain and clear.

And she wasn't going to sit this one out; she'd be on the frontlines of this one; because they had _messed_ with her _truck_.

And it looked like she would be walking all the way to school. _I guess I'll be a lot late_. So much for being Mr Sears' favourite.

She trudged down the lawn toward the street, wondering if she could catch up with the boys and maybe hitch a ride on their bus.

"Hey!"

Rose paused just by the gate, squinting back toward the house. Sean was standing by the front door with a steaming mug in his hand. He was wearing a black t-shirt and jeans and his brown hair was as usual artistic chaos. Dark stubble covered his chin and cheeks.

"Hi," Rose said uncertainly, raising her voice so Sean could hear her.

"You walking?" Rose glanced at her truck, and Sean followed her gaze, then frowned.

"Looks that way," Rose said.

"You're gonna be late," he replied.

"Looks that way," Rose repeated.

"I'll take you."

"Really?" Rose asked, surprised. Hadn't Sean heard about the house-wide freeze-out?

"Get your helmet," Sean said, jerking his head toward the house. Rose hustled back up the lawn and ran upstairs; she grabbed her 'Chibs'-embellished helmet and her leather chaps, which she never went on a motorcycle without and paused when she glimpsed her dad's old jacket; she tugged it on over her 'Hysteria' t-shirt and did the zip up; it was snug and gloriously warm because of the silk lining, soft like butter and supple. She ran downstairs again, after trading her flats for a pair of Pogue's old broken-in biker boots that he used to wear when he was a pre-teen and which fit Rose because they were small enough.

Sean was waiting on his Harley, which was _gorgeous_ and terrifically loud. The low roar was music to her ears. He glanced over his shoulder and Rose saw his eyes widen as she strode across the lawn to him, in her leathers, buckling her helmet, and he quirked an eyebrow. She swung her leg over the bike, settled behind Sean, tucked her bag between them, and slid her arms around his waist.

It was a little strange at first, straddling the bike and holding on to Sean, whom Rose had rarely spoken to, and who rarely spoke to her either. The farther they got from the house, the more Rose enjoyed the ride, remembering what it felt like to ride with Pogue, going nowhere but just enjoying _freedom_. Sean had done a killer job with his bike. He was barely opening it up, but she could both hear and feel the power of the engine. He took a turn at top speed and she tightened her grip around his waist slightly.

"Sorry!" Sean yelled. "Not used to passengers."

"S'okay!" Rose replied. "What kind of shocks do you have?"

"Two under the rear and another up front," Sean replied after a pause. It was a lot more comfortable ride than Jake Salvatore's shock-inferior bike.

I can tell," she said. "Think you can show me your specs sometime?"

"Sure. Yeah," Sean replied.

"What year is the engine? Ninety-seven? Ninety-eight?2

"A '98," Sean replied. "But it's got a couple of new parts." He sounded confused, and Rose smiled to herself. She knew there weren't a lot of girls out there who knew engines of any kind like she did.

Sean pulled his Harley to a stop in the drop-off loop outside Baker High. A few kids were still milling around outside, defiantly ignoring the time, while a couple more raced across the parking lot to get inside before the bell.

"Thanks," Rose smiled, climbing off the bike; she unclipped her helmet and took it off.

"You know a lot about Harleys," Sean said.

"My dad loved 'em," Rose shrugged. "He didn't have any sons, so he had to make do with me. I helped him build my best-friend's bike for his sixteenth-birthday."

"You ride?" Sean asked.

"I was about to take my test in North Carolina," Rose said sadly. It had been scheduled for last week, in fact. Her dad was going to help her build a bike from scratch, the way he had for Pogue.

Sean nodded, and for the first time since Rose had met him, it seemed like he was actually, really looking at her. "I'll take you out for another ride sometime," he said.

"Really?" Rose asked, her cheeks flushing, hopeful and pleased. "I mean, you don't have to—"

"I'll take you out for another ride sometime," Sean repeated with an amused smirk. "You better get inside." Rose glanced over her shoulder at the front-doors, and sighed heavily, her shoulders slumping. She glanced at Sean.

"Do I have to?" she asked miserably. Another day of being ostracised. She would have preferred to climb onto the back of that Harley and ride around with Sean until dinnertime. Sean smirked.

"Go on," he said.

"Fine… Thanks, again," Rose said, smoothing a hand over her hair.

"Hey," Sean called, as he revved the engine, and Rose started toward the school. Rose turned to look at him.

"Don't let my brothers get to you," he said. "They're a bunch of tools." Rose grinned and Sean tore off; Rose dashed up the path to the doors, up the steps, and ran into her History classroom just as the last bell rang. She hadn't had time to take off her leathers or get rid of her helmet, so she got a lot of looks as she went to her seat and sank down. She shrugged her jacket off, keeping it in her lap so that it didn't get stolen, and spent the hour trying not to listen to the girls' whispers and the boys' curious, eager expressions.

* * *

As he had yesterday, Miller met Rose outside the cafeteria doors.

"Hi, Miller," Rose smiled.

"Hi," he replied, following her into the cafeteria. "Are we sitting inside again?" Rose paused and looked out across the room. Ria, Pearl and Jenna were already sitting at their table; just like yesterday, all three of them had been pointedly ignoring her all day, even Pearl, who sat at the same table as her in Art and who had to share their camera with her for their Photography unit. Finn sat at the other end of the room with his friends, sketchbook open in front of him, a spread of art supplies clogging up his lunch-tray. A couple of Hailey's friends stared her down from their table; Rose shot them a cool glare and glanced at Miller.

"Let's go outside," Rose said finally. "It's beautiful out today."

"Yeah. It's beautiful out today," Miller said with a nod; Rose smiled and followed him to the courtyard; a few boys caught her eye and checked her out shamelessly; she guessed the story of her arriving in History wearing motorcycle leathers had spread. She had managed to take her chaps off before French, but she still had to carry her helmet because it was too awkward in her locker.

They dropped their things off at Miller's favourite table and went back inside to the lunch-line. Little clusters of girls whispered in low tones, then laughing obviously and loudly, glancing over their shoulders at her. Rose tried to ignore them, fixing a salad with frilly lettuce, slices of apple and pear, dried cranberries, crumbling feta cheese, glazed walnuts and raspberry vinaigrette; she picked out a yumberry-pomegranate smoothie made with peaches and strawberries and a ripe plum, paid and walked back outside with Miller.

She sat down and organised her tray the way Miller liked it, shrugging off her jacket and folding it in her lap.

"Why do you have that?" Miller asked, looking at her helmet as she lifted it onto the bench beside her instead of keeping it on the table.

"Oh, it didn't fit in my locker," Rose said, shaking her little pot of salad dressing before she opened it and drizzled it onto her salad. She paused and glanced up at Miller, wide-eyed. "Hey! You just asked me a question without telling me something about the Yankees!"

Miller flushed and raised his shoulders, looking down at his tray. "I practiced." Rose stared at him, a great swell of pride rushing over her.

"You did?" she half-whispered, breathless and choked up with pride. "Miller! You are… You are such an _awesome_ kid, you know that?" Miller looked up and beamed at her.

"Hey," someone said, and Rose and Miller both glanced up. Aimee hovered next to their table with her tray. It was the first time Rose had seen her all day; she looked very pretty with her hair pulled back by a thin ice-blue headband embellished with a swirling feather-design made of tiny glimmering rhinestones, and her pretty blue eyes glowed because she wore a pale-blue top.

"Hi," Rose said, blinking in surprise. Considering Miller was the only one who'd even looked at her today, she found Aimee's appearance a pleasant surprise. "What're you doing out here?"

"I just thought it was so sunny out…I thought I'd see what it was like out here," Aimee said, looking around as if she had never been out in the little courtyard before. "It's nice."

Rose's insides thawed out at Aimee's kindness; she had come out here to sit with her—them. She and Aimee exchanged a smile.

"So can I…?" Aimee asked, glancing shyly at Miller, who was very intent on arranging his tray.

"Miller, do you mind if Aimee sits with us?" Rose asked gently.

"Aimee?" Miller said, blushing slightly.

"Yes. This is my friend Aimee," Rose said. "She's Hailey Farmer's sister. You know Hailey, don't you?" Miller nodded to his tray.

"Hi," Aimee said, smiling.

"Hello," Miller replied without looking up; Rose smiled warmly; considering the first time she had met him, he hadn't spoken a word until the next morning, this was a big step for him. Rose smiled and gestured Aimee to sit down. As soon as her friend was seated, Rose reached over and arranged everything on her tray in height order, down to the little sachet of salt for her fries. Aimee looked at it for a second, shrugged, and picked up her sandwich.

"So, Rosalie, how're you liking your new school?" Aimee asked, her tone dripping with chipper sarcasm. Rose smiled, her mouth full of salad, and chuckled deep in her throat. She swallowed.

"Oh, it's just lovely. Everyone is just so sweet to me," she said, playing along; Aimee laughed.

"Well, at least some of us are," Aimee said. "Right, Miller?"

Miller didn't respond. He clasped his hands under the table and stared at his untouched food. Aimee glanced at Rose uncertainly. Rose put her fork down and cleared her throat.

"Miller, why don't you ask Aimee something? Something about herself," Rose said coaxingly. "You can use that trick we figured out. You know, with the Yankees." Miller glanced up at her; he had the skittish look of a desperate, terrified animal trapped in a cage and Rose was taunting it. But beneath the skittishness, she saw the hope and defiance that Rose knew made up most of Miller's character. If it wasn't for the Asperger's, he probably would have been up there competing with Evan for Most Popular, because when he got talking, he was…enigmatic, and charming, and absolutely the sweetest guy Rose had ever met. She knew Miller wanted to be able to do this, to have casual conversations with passersby, to make friends, to help his mom stop worrying about him; he was sensible of how much Regina worried about him, and had told Rose he wanted her to stop.

"Go ahead," Rose smiled warmly. "You can ask Aimee anything you want. She's very sweet, I promise." Miller's back had curved into a perfect C, but he was rigid with tension as he stared down at the table. He took a deep breath.

"The New York Yankees captain Thurman Munson was killed in a plane crash in 1979," he said in a rush. "Are you in Rosalie's class?"

Aimee looked a little stunned, but regained her composure quickly. "Yeah. We're both juniors—and we're on the cross-country team together." Rose smiled.

"The New York Yankees captain Derek Jeter won his first Gold Glove in 2004. Do you like baseball?" Miller asked.

Aimee laughed, glancing quizzically at Rose. Rose just smiled and shrugged one shoulder. Aimee was only going to learn who Miller was the way they all did. Slowly but surely. And boy was it worth the effort Rose had put into it.

"Actually, yeah," Aimee answered. "I'm an Oakland A's fan. I know, it's bizarre, but my dad grew up in northern Cal, so—"

"Did you know that Hall of Famer Reggie Jackson played for the Oakland A's for nine years?" Miller asked, looking directly into Aimee's eyes for the first time. Aimee blushed prettily, and a smile played at the corners of her mouth. _Mesmerised_, Rose thought the appropriate word was.

"No… I didn't know that," Aimee said, smiling. "I guess you learn something new every day." Rose smiled and tucked into her salad.

"So, what's this going all over school that Rosalie Meade turned up in head-to-toe leather this morning?" Aimee asked, her smile teasing. Rose sighed and shook her head.

"_Someone_ let all the air out of the tires on my truck," Rose said, glancing covertly at Miller; he froze, and paid special attention to his lunch. "Sean McGowan gave me a ride to school on the back of his Harley."

"Sean? He's your oldest brother, isn't he, Miller?" Aimee asked. Miller nodded. "I think I remember him from when we used to live next-door to you, ages ago. So who d'you think did it, Rosalie? To your truck, I mean."

"I don't know," Rose sighed heavily. Miller glanced up at her, his cheeks flushing. "Don't worry, I won't ask you to rat out your brothers, Miller." She knew he probably knew who it had been; despite having the appearance of always looking at the floor, Miller was unerringly observant. So he had probably already catalogued that Aimee did look _very_ pretty today, and that she smelled faintly of warm apricots, subtle peonies and pralines—the 'Forever Sunshine' shower-gel she had bought at Bath and Body Works when they'd gone to the mall. He probably already knew she smiled a lot because there were the faintest hint of lines at the corners of her mouth, and that she didn't wear any makeup except lip-gloss and mascara, and didn't need to.

* * *

"Are you still swooning?" Rose asked, laughing softly, as she and Aimee left the showers later that afternoon after practice; Aimee shot her a shy smile and grabbed her clothes from her locker. Rose hastily towelled herself dry.

"It's just…the way he _looks_ at you, you know. I mean, he doesn't just glance at you or try and look down your top like some guys do; when Miller looks at you, he looks _right_ _at_ you, like…into your soul or something," Aimee said, her cheeks warming as she smiled. "You know, when you went to buy a cookie, he asked me if I wanted to come over to his house to watch a baseball game sometime."

"Miller asked you that? Miller McGowan?" Rose asked, stunned. She grinned when Aimee blushed and nodded happily.

"Uh-huh. I told him my dad was a Red Sox convert, and he talked about his dad being the Sox's number-one fan," Aimee smiled. "I don't think I've ever met anyone more interested in baseball."

"Oh, yeah, Miller's an expert," Rose chuckled.

"Can I ask you something?" Aimee said, biting her lip.

"Sure," Rose smiled.

"What's wrong with him?" Aimee asked, flushing a little darker. "I mean, everyone says he's sick." Rose shrugged.

"He has Asperger's Syndrome," she explained. "It's a form of autism. Do you know anything about it?"

"Not really," Aimee admitted, frowning. "I mean, I've heard of autism, but I've never met anyone who has it."

"Well, it takes all kinds of forms, but basically it's a social dysfunction," Rose explained. "That's why he was a little sketchy at first when you came to sit with us; it takes him a little longer than most of us to get used to new people. With Miller, it's a few things. He has to have things arranged just so, like your lunch-tray, or he gets agitated. And he's not great with new people, but _clearly_ he likes you."

"He does?" Aimee blushed. Rose smiled.

"Regina says he doesn't talk to a new person for at least a week. When I moved here, he didn't even look me in the face until breakfast the next day," Rose said thoughtfully, glancing at Aimee as she brushed her hair and, with a smile, accepted Rose's hair-dryer. "With you it took a matter of minutes. And he's also incredibly gifted at math and memorisation, and he has a knack for stats. He's obsessed with—"

"The New York Yankees," Aimee smiled, nodding.

"Exactly," Rose chuckled. "Miller's a really sweet kid if you get to know him; he just…needs a little bit more patience and attention, that's all."

"What was that thing…when he told me about the Yankees and then asked me a question?" Aimee asked, blow-drying her hair while Rose dressed.

"It's just a little game we made up; he got agitated when he couldn't ask me stuff about me, so I suggested he tell me something about the Yankees, and ask me a question right after," Rose said, beaming proudly. "Today he didn't need to tell me something to the Yankees before talking to me, which is a big step."

"You like him, don't you," Aimee smiled. "I mean—not like _that_—but like…I don't know, like, you like hanging out with him, right? You sit with him most lunchtimes." Rose shrugged, smiling; she took her hair-dryer back and blasted her hair.

"He's just one of those really _nice_ guys, you know," she shrugged. "You don't often meet guys like him. He's even nice to live with, too."

"I bet you can't say that about _all_ the McGowan boys, huh," Aimee said, frowning. "Why would they let the air out of your tires? That sounds a little juvenile to me."

"Well, they are male," Rose said heavily, twisting her hair into a side knot-shape bun and pinning it into place. "I think it has to do with Evan being grounded again."

"Again? What'd he do this time?" Aimee asked.

"Slapped me," Rose said, shrugging. "We were arguing about Hailey."

"Oh, say no more!" Aimee said, shaking her head. "No need to explain that one! I swear to god, my sister has him so whipped! She gets her kicks from screwing him over."

"Literally," Rose said dryly, remembering Doug. Aimee grimaced.

"Good thing my lunch has already gone down," she said, clutching her stomach. "I still haven't recovered from that mental image."

"I think they should pay reparations for emotional damage," Rose said sadly. "Did I tell you I went home yesterday and found Caleb dressed up in my clothes, and wearing bright-pink lipstick?"

"Caleb's the little guy, with the cupcakes?" Aimee said, obviously trying to keep track of the brothers.

"Yup. And he now has a fetish for my sparkly red rhinestone Louboutin pumps," Rose tutted, shaking her head. "Luckily, Finn got pictures of him all dressed up, so when Caleb gets married, we can show them to the whole reception." Aimee laughed.

"You have to admit, living with them has to be pretty fun sometimes," she said. "I can remember a _few_ times when we used to hang out with the McGowan boys as kids. It was anarchic."

"It still is!" Rose laughed. "For the most part. John and Regina have cracked down on rules since I moved in, but Caleb still drinks full-fat Pepsi at seven in the evening and has water-fights with Ian after dinner."

"Does John McGowan still make his famous milkshakes?" Aimee asked. "I can _still_ remember him scooping great mounds of peanut-butter into a blender with brownies and Reese's cups and, like, a whole quart of ice-cream."

"He does!" Rose laughed. "We had those exact milkshakes on Sunday, watching Back to the Future."

"That's the one thing I really remember from living next to the McGowans—not _my_ house, or anything; watching Mr McGowan make those milkshakes—and Finn crying when my sister knocked his out of his hands," Aimee said, smiling.

"Finn cried?" Rose said, eyes widening as she beamed. "Really?"

"I think he's been scared of Hailey ever since," Aimee said thoughtfully. Rose laughed and slicked on some lip-gloss. "That's a really pretty colour lip-gloss. I've been thinking about going to the mall again; I got some babysitting money I wanna spend on new makeup. D'you wanna come?"

"I…I can't. I'm _grounded_," Rose sighed, pouting. Aimee cringed sympathetically.

"Why?" she asked; Rose told her about Friday night and everything that had happened between her dropping Aimee off at her house and her joining Rose and Miller for lunch today.

"Jeez, okay, yeah; never a dull moment at the McGowan house," Aimee shook her head, as they walked down the steps and along the path. "Was Doug okay?"

"Yeah, he was fine; he has a couple of huge black eyes, and some emotional scarring, but he's just as obnoxious as always," Rose shrugged.

"Well, Evan's not out here, so I'm guessing you two are still on the outs," Aimee said, glancing at the end of the path where Evan usually parked, waiting for her. "Do you need a ride home?"

"Actually, I would really appreciate that," Rose smiled. "If you don't mind."

"No, I don't mind," Aimee smiled. "I thought about stopping through Meadowlark on the way home. You interested?"

"In ice-cream? Always," Rose smiled.

"I thought I'd treat myself; I think it's gonna be one of the last few hot days," Aimee sighed. "I hate it when summer ends. I guess it never does in North Carolina, huh."

"No. I lived in tanks and shorts. I had to buy _jackets_ and _sweaters_ here," Rose said, wrinkling her nose. "I even own a wool coat and a ski-jacket."

"You'll be thankful for them in a few weeks, trust me," Aimee said. "My dad still complains about the winters here, even though he and my mom haven't lived in California for, like, twenty years. When it gets cold here, you don't wanna be leaving the house. My _car_ hates it when it gets cold; she doesn't do rain, or hail, and she _hates_ snow." Rose laughed, and they walked over to Aimee's car, and she drove them to the drive-thru dairy just off Main Street, for vanilla-chocolate swirl frozen yoghurt, and then dropped Rose off at the McGowans' house. They never stopped talking.

"Hey, Rose," Aimee said, as Rose opened the car-door and climbed out of her seat; she bent through the window.

"Yeah?"

"D'you think your grounding includes homework study groups?" Aimee asked, a troubled frown pulling her forehead. "History is really kicking my ass, and my parents want to hire a tutor, but I really don't want to do that; I know Mr Sears has been using your essays as examples in class. D'you think Mr and Mrs McGowan would mind if I asked you to help me with my History homework?"

"I can ask, but I don't think they'd mind," Rose said thoughtfully. "Just as long as you can help me with my math."

"Deal," Aimee said quickly, grinning.

"Alright, I'll call you about it later," Rose said, taking inventory of the cars; Evan's Saab, her truck. Sean's Harley glistening just inside the barn, a few others belonging to his buddies beside it. John and Regina weren't home yet.

"Cool," Aimee smiled, raising her fist to knock knuckles gently. "I'll see you tomorrow. Oh, and, hey, say hi to Miller for me."

"Oh, I will," Rose promised her, grinning. Aimee flushed prettily and laughed, and Rose waved from the porch as she drove away. It felt nice to have a friend like Aimee.

* * *

**A.N.**: Please review! And remember to vote for your favourite name for Megan's sister in my 'Little Women' fanfiction.


	27. Balm for the Soul

**A.N.**: Some nice Finn moments for you all! Please vote on my profile about my next Megan Meade's Guide fanfiction story; I need her older-sister's name, and I've decided to write the story from Evan's perspective...which may be interesting!

* * *

**Rose Amongst Thorns**

Chapter Twenty-Seven

_Balm for the Soul_

* * *

Rose left her bedroom to get a glass of water and a snack, halfway through her homework, just as Evan reached the top of the stairs. They both froze. For a split-second, Rose was sure that Evan was going to say something; he had that purposeful look about him. But then he just brushed right by her into his bedroom. He slammed the door so hard she could feel it reverberate through her feet. Crappy music blasted suddenly from beyond Evan's slammed door, and a wash of rage saturated every cell of her body.

She whirled around, fingernails digging into her palms as she clenched her fists, intent on hammering Evan's door so hard it splintered and he _couldn't_ slam it in her face again. None of this was her fault. Didn't he understand that—could nothing get through that thick skull of his but easily-spread thighs and food?

She heard a noise outside her window; Caleb and Ian chatting amicably while they kicked around a soccer-ball with Miller. Rose stalked to the end of the hall to look out the window. The door to the shed was just closing.

Finn.

Despite everything, he was just as bad as his pig-headed older-brother. Finn had stranded her that morning as well, and he hadn't said a word to her about French class, even though he never would have passed that pop quiz they had taken without her help, and he hadn't said a word to her when she'd been put in his group during Art to go and take pictures of the school campus to test out their cameras. Rose turned and stormed down the hallway. She was a little _too_ irate to go after Evan today; she might hurt him. For a petite girl, she could cause damage like a hurricane. But Finn…that boy wasn't going to know what hit him.

"You guys all suck, you know that?" Rose shouted, flinging the door of the shed open and marching inside, slamming it behind her. Finn jumped about a foot in the air and dropped his paintbrush on the leg of his already paint-splattered jeans, where it left a streak of pale peony-pink on his leg, with a tiny streak of fuchsia, before hitting the dirty floor. Rose made a mental note to buy him a little mat or something.

"Sorry?" he blurted.

"You! You suck!" Rose fumed.

"We've been over this; I know I suck."

"Not your _art_, Finn; you know you're too talented for false modesty," Rose snapped. "You! You…_guys_!"

Finn blinked. "Actually, I think I'm kind of an _okay_ guy."

"Oh, please!" Rose said, squaring off in front of him. "I mean, what's _wrong_ with you? Were you all born like this? Or did Regina shake you when you were babies? Where was I when she was dropping you on your heads? It's got to be in your genes; either that or you've got each other in too many choke-holds over the years and you've deprived your brains of enough oxygen! Do you know, sometimes I sit upstairs in bed and I just try and rationalise _which_ of you boys I hate most."

"You are _losing it_, honey!" Finn stared.

"Oh, keep up Finn, I've already lost it! I lost my hold on sanity the day I came to live here! I didn't realise when I moved in I was actually moving into Bedlam!" Rose said, almost panting.

"Okay, honey, I think you need to sit down," Finn said, carefully reaching for her shoulders, as if he didn't want to rile her any more. Keeping her at arm's length, he steered her over to the garden bench and pushed her down until she had to let her knees go and fall into the seat. He grabbed a stool and set it before her, and sat down, so her knees were trapped between his thighs. "Now, is this about Evan and Hailey?"

"No! It's about you! You deserted me this morning!" Rose said. "And then I went to get in my _truck _and someone had let all the air out of my tires. Someone let the air out of my _tires_! What is this? The McGowan Insane Asylum?"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, just calm down a little, please, for me?" Finn said. "First of all, I did not desert you this morning. Evan said you wanted to drive to school in your truck."

"Oh really?"

"He did!"

"A little difficult to do when there's no _air_ in my tires!" Rose said, huffing; she folded her arms tight over her chest and pouted, leaning heavily against the back of the bench. "And I never said I wanted to drive myself to school. I guess everyone around here is a liar."

"Again, I have to defend myself," Finn said gently, wiping his hands on an old washcloth and crossing his arms over his chest. "Have I ever lied to you?"

_Damnit_. That boy and his too-pretty eyelashes and too-kissable lips and his unerring sweetness. _Damn_ _him_! He was going to kill her rush before she had a chance to really lay into him! She glared and flicked her eyes around the shed, trying to think of an instance where he had even just veered from the absolute truth. _Got nothing. Damnit_, she thought, glaring harder.

"No. Not that I can remember," she admitted grudgingly.

"Good. Now we're getting somewhere," Finn sighed. "Now, why don't we get everything out in the fresh air; what happened on Friday night?"

Rose blinked. "You actually want to hear _my_ side of the story?"

"_Yes_," Finn said playfully, resting his hands just above her knees. "I do."

Rose sighed heavily, reaching out a hand, and laced her fingers through his. "Okay…well, I was dancing in the porch with Aimee and the girls, and I saw Hailey all drunk and flirting with some guys, and then Evan came in and saw her, dragged her away from them, and they had an argument; Hailey ran off and Evan went into the pool-house."

"Okay…Quick question. Was this before or after we danced together to Def Leppard?" Finn asked, grinning, his eyes glowing lustily. Rose blushed.

"After," she whispered. Finn flicked his eyes to her lips and back, gazing into her eyes.

"Okay," he cleared his throat, blushing, "continue. What happened next?"

"Well, I ran out of beer, so I went to the kitchen to get another drink, and Evan was there at the keg, and we started talking, and I remember mouthing off to him about Hailey bullying me. I think I called her a jealous, insecure tyrant… _She_ bursts into the kitchen, accuses us of, I don't know _what_, but she runs off, Evan goes after her, and she disappeared by the time we got to the foyer; Evan took my truck to go and look for Hailey because he was afraid of her driving after the amount she'd had to drink. That's it."

"That was it," Finn said.

"Yeah, that was it," Rose repeated, sighing heavily. "After that I spent about an hour and a half looking for you to get a ride home, and Aimee and I are hanging out talking, and Jenna comes in and tells us she saw Doug and Hailey having sex in the woods. That is all I know. After that, I had to drive Jenna, Bobby and Aimee home, I got stranded, and you know the rest."

"Okay, so let me get this straight. You were in the kitchen with Evan? Just talking," Finn said, frowning.

"Yes, just talking! Unlike a particular girl we all know who shall remain nameless—_Hailey_ _Farmer_—_I'm_ not going pass myself around you guys like a party-favour," Rose said defensively. "Although, give Caleb another ten years and you may have competition." Finn tried not to smile too much, and gripped her above the knee, so she shrieked and thrashed.

"So," Finn said, clearing his throat, and looking uncharacteristically serious; he could have been an actor; "Hailey didn't see anything."

"She wouldn't have seen anything because there was nothing _to_ see," Rose said.

"And you didn't tell her that you and Evan hooked up?"

"_No_!"

"I believe you," Finn shrugged nonchalantly. Rose stared, shocked.

"You believe me? You don't even want to think about it?" she asked.

"What's to think about?" Finn shrugged, smiling. He picked up the paintbrush he'd dropped. "_You_ are a very sweet, honest person, who is obviously upset about all this. Evan and Hailey totally thrive on drama. It's my expert opinion, knowing all the parties involved, that you are the unfortunate innocent bystander who got sucked in by the vortex that is my brother's relationship with Hailey." He stood up, moved the stool, dipped the paintbrush in a jar of water and cleaned it, and glanced over his shoulder at her. "Do you still think I suck?"

Rose shrugged grudgingly. She was in the mood to be aggravated. "Yes." Finn just chuckled softly.

"Alright, I'll let you be ticked at me if it makes you feel better," he said softly. Rose glanced at him and sighed. The way the late sunshine struck through the skylight made his crazy curly wavy hair look like it had been gilded, and his thick curling lashes cast long shadows on his cheekbones.

"_That_ won't make me feel better," Rose grumbled softly, climbing off the bench; she went over to Finn, who was mixing paints at the potting-bench with his back to her. "_This_ will." She went up to him and put her hands on the backs of his shoulders, feeling the muscles coiled, the heat of his skin. She pressed her cheek against his back and sighed, and smiled when she heard him sigh too. She turned her face to his back and bit her teeth through his t-shirt, not enough to leave a mark, but playful, and slid her arms down and around his waist, clasping her hands loosely over his stomach. He chuckled softly and she felt him shiver deliciously at her bite. One warm, paint-covered hand covered hers, and she smiled when he hummed softly and let his head loll back onto her shoulder. She turned her head and gently pressed her lips to his neck, his jaw, and grinned mischievously when she nibbled his ear. He jerked upright in an instant, whirling around, and grinned devilishly at her before capturing her in a stolen kiss, one that stole her breath away and had her swooning in his arms, fisting his t-shirt and sliding a hand over his chest, to curl around his neck and draw him closer.

After every excruciating, heart-hammering, decadent kiss, Finn would press his lips sweetly against hers, as if he was giving them a tiny stamp that read '_Mine_.' Those tiny kisses made her knees knock together even more than the long, touchy-feely tongue-kisses. She grinned into their next kiss as he slid his arms around her shoulders and drew her closer, and grabbed his butt, pressing their tummies together.

"Mm-hmm," Rose laughed softly. "You have such a cute butt." Finn grabbed hers, splaying his fingers.

"You too," he said, grinning; his hair was tousled, his lips plump, and his eyes so sparkling they were alive. He gave her another little kiss.

"By the way," Rose murmured, "you dance like a slut." Finn laughed and leaned away from her, grinning.

"I remember you telling me that at the party—but if I remember correctly, _you_ were dancing pretty erotically with me, too," Finn grinned. "As you said, it takes two to have hard-core sex. Or, in our case, freak-dance."

"When did I say that—about hard-core sex?" Rose frowned. Finn blushed.

"Uh… When you were laying into Evan Saturday night," he said guiltily, lowering his lashes repentantly.

"You heard that?" Rose breathed. She had thought she had been quiet whilst berating Evan for being a callous bastard.

"I think everyone but my parents and the runts heard that!" Finn said, smiling apologetically. Rose flushed hotly, eyeing Finn's t-shirt, his lips, licking her own.

"He just…he made me so _mad_ when I saw him beating up Doug the way he did," she said in a rush, heat flaming her cheeks. Heat from anger, not embarrassment this time.

"Well, I'm just surprised he doesn't have a huge hand-print on his face…" Finn said, smirking; his expression turned thoughtful, as his eyes swept ravenously over her features. "Rose? Who's…? What did you mean, when you were talking to Evan, you said to take a look at Caleb and think how he'd feel if doctors told him Caleb's heart was broken, and you had to watch him die? What did you mean?"

"I…" Rose looked down at the floor. He had been paying enough attention to her rant to remember that. Finn wasn't someone she could easily _not_ tell things.

"Rose?"

"I meant… I was talking about… Lucia," Rose breathed, her heart crumpling painfully.

"Lucia? Who's she?" Finn asked curiously, tilting his head to one side.

"Lucia was my sister," Rose said softly, her throat burning and making her words sound choked. She looked down at the floor, a hand still curled around Finn's t-shirt.

"I didn't know you had a sister," Finn said, sounding surprised.

"I don't…anymore," Rose said, her nose and eyes burning ominously. She hadn't thought about it, not really, for a year, hadn't acknowledged that d-word, hadn't let herself dwell over the fact she would never see Lucia again. But last night, after buying all that scrapbooking stuff, sitting on her bed for hours putting pages together, she had started to…to _feel_. To feel the way she did right now, like she was going to implode and explode at the same time and that the heat in her throat and eyes would make her spontaneously combust. Like she might die from the pain in her chest, the pain that grew bigger and bigger with every photograph Rose saw filled with memories.

"What do you mean?" Finn frowned.

Rose had never told anybody this. Everyone she knew had already known about Lucia getting sick. They had known when it happened, when her little sister had been taken into hospital.

"Lucia…she…died…" Rose whispered. She couldn't make herself look at Finn; she blinked blearily at his chest. "Doctors found out she had this…this problem with her heart; it didn't work _right_…and it got weaker and weaker until it—it failed completely… She…she_ died_."

She chanced a glance up at Finn. He was staring down at her, his eyes wide, his lips slightly parted. Shock and thousands of questions were battling for dominance in those beautiful eyes of his.

"Rose, I… I didn't…_know_," he blinked, looking stunned. "I… I am _so_ sorry, Rosalie."

For a little while, neither of them said anything, just stood almost nose-to-nose, staring into each other's eyes.

Rose swallowed and blinked her overflowing eyes, ridding them of tears. "You know…you're the first person I've ever told that," she whispered. Rose licked her lips and gave him a tiny kiss. "Ever."

"When…when did it…happen?" Finn asked, looking pained that he didn't know the etiquette in asking her when her sister had died.

"Last year," Rose said hollowly, sniffing softly. "Just before my motorcycle accident."

"Last _year_?" Finn blurted, staring at her. He blinked a few times. "How…how old was Lucia? I don't think I ever remember meeting her."

"She was _five_," Rose burst out emotionally, dropping her head into her hand, covering her eyes. Finn's arms banded around her instantly, hugging her so tight he was holding her together. She gripped his t-shirt and clung to him. For a long time, neither of them said anything. Then Finn, who had obviously been thinking hard during their silence, murmured against her neck;

"She'd be the same age as Caleb now." Rose sniffed and nodded, tears burning her eyes; they didn't fall.

"Mm-hmm," she agreed, her lips twisting with upset. Finn rubbed her back soothingly, and the scent of paint and fresh warm laundry swept over her, comforting her. She worked her way carefully out of his arms, and took in his expression. He looked heartbroken. The same way Pogue had looked when Rose had come home from the hospital for the first time in days, gaunt and shattered, a shell. He had known instantly what had happened, and had spent the next few weeks keeping her stuffed with every-topping pizza and Ben & Jerry's, midnight phone-calls and thousands of hugs, and dozens of boxes of Kleenex. Anything to help make her feel better.

"Will you come with me?" she asked softly. "There are some things I think I want to show you." Finn swept his eyes over her face and tucked a loose wisp of hair behind her ear.

"Sure," he said quietly; they left the shed, and walked back into the house and upstairs to her bedroom. Rose closed the door and took the enormous pile of packets of photographs from the chaise, where she had been going through them last night; Finn climbed onto the bed beside her, and Rose curled up next to him, his arm tucked around her waist, his fingertips tracing patterns on her arm as she went through photographs of her sister Lucia Grace Meade.

"She is a _beautiful_ girl," Finn breathed, and he sounded like he was suffering from heartburn, he sounded so pained. His eyes crackled with emotion and sorrow, and he gazed at a favourite photograph Rose had of her standing with her sister in matching dresses (she in a slightly more adult version) at a wedding of their family friend's, with matching little Swarovski-encrusted swirling feather-shaped hair-clips pinned into their hair. Rose was smiling and hugging Lucia, and Lucia's gaze was slightly off, past the camera, and Rose knew she had been smiling at the two adorable twin pageboys Lucia had flirted with all night, with her enormous wide navy-blue eyes, and the dimples in her cheeks.

"Lucia's saucers, we used to call them—her eyes," Rose said, sniffing. "She was always the most beautiful baby. And she was so sweet-tempered, too."

Until dinner came by way of Regina having hit up Casa Orozco for a feast of Mexican food, Rose sat with Finn, telling him things about Lucia, where the photographs had been taken, why they had been giggling in almost every single one, and how beautiful Rose's mother was. Rose showed him some of the photographs John had given her of their parents, and Finn went to grab a photograph album in which resided photographs taken from every single time Rose had visited them—including the notorious photo their parents loved to tease them about, the one they had snapped on New Years' Eve, when Finn had his arms around Rose and was kissing her with the innocence only a nine-year-old could have, thinking a kiss was just putting your lips on someone else's—but the photograph was unaccountably sweet.

Rose had beef tacos, Mexican rice and refried beans for dinner, something she'd been craving for a few days, and she asked John and Regina about the possibility of going to Aimee's house or having Aimee over to work on their homework trouble-spots. Regina thought it was a great idea, so Rose got the okay to invite Aimee over to work on homework.

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**A.N.**: Please review!


	28. Gossipmongering

**A.N.**: Please go to my profile page and click 'Vote Now' for my newest Megan Meade's Guide fanfiction; I'm rewriting 'Little Women' and need the name of Megan's older, brunette sister; there are six choices, so please pick your favourite. The choices are Evelyn "Evie," Ella, Cecily, Tamsin, Samantha "Sammy," and Poppy. This story will give Megan an older-sister, and might be told from Evan's point-of-view, or at least _some _chapters will be told from his point-of-view!

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**Rose Amongst Thorns**

Chapter Twenty-Eight

_Gossip-mongering_

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After dinner, Finn went back down to the shed, but Rose still had half her homework to finish. When she had finished with her homework, Rose pulled out a brand-new journal and brought the stacks of photographs over to her desk, and spent the better part of an hour trying to get through just one packet of photographs, writing long anecdotes about what had occurred when specific photographs had been taken.

It was a healing process that was just beginning, and it was slow and painful work, but Rose knew she had to start dealing with things; telling Finn had helped lots. Now she knew she could tell people, and that was a start.

When her hand started cramping up, Rose went back downstairs and met Finn in the shed; he wanted to take a break too, so they dragged a tire pump out of the garage—Finn had spent fifteen minutes trying to find it for her amongst a nest of old sports equipment, contraband girlie magazines and random stuff—and walked over to her truck.

"So, any idea who I can blame this one on?" Rose asked, pouting as she stroked her truck.

"Too immature for Evan," Finn said, standing while Rose bent to secure the pump to the little nozzle on the tire, leaning against the truck with his arms folded and his ankles crossed. "I'd like to say it's too immature for Doug too, but who're we kidding? He and Ian are your best bets."

Rose sighed heavily, stood up, and proceeded to start pumping air into the tire with her foot.

"So… How's Evan treating you?" Finn asked, and Rose just huffed and kept pumping air into the tire, shaking her head. "Oh, well, don't worry about it; Evan will come around."

"You really think that?" Rose said, glancing up at him.

Finn shrugged, his expression thoughtful. "Look, Hailey's been jerking my brother around since they started dating—I think that's how she gets her kicks. But once he takes a step back to look at his life, he'll see what a complete mess _she's_ made of it being involved with him," he said. "Give it another couple of days and he'll have forgotten all about hating you." Rose shot him a look.

"Okay, well, maybe not a _couple_ of days, but he'll get over it," Finn shrugged. "Doug's a little harder to call."

Rose tutted. "You know, I've been giving it a little bit of thought, and it's weird. I can almost understand _why_ Doug did it."

"Huh?"

"Okay, say the hottest girl in school came up to you, com_plete_ly shitfaced and up for anything, telling you that she just broke up with her boyfriend…What would you do?" Finn frowned thoughtfully.

"I don't know. Probably get her some water and something to eat," he shrugged, "then take her home." Rose paused, and flicked her eyes over Finn's face. He wasn't lying, he _would_ do that; he'd done that for Kayla, after all.

"Of course you would," she said warmly, reaching up and trailing her fingertips down his cheek. He had the most striking cheekbones…_focus, Rosalie_. "Okay, say it was one of your buddies this girl came up to. What would _they_ do?"

"Probably try and bang her," Finn shrugged. Rose laughed.

"Exactly," she chuckled. "Considering the amount of alcohol involved, and Hailey's certain physical appeal—_I_ still don't understand the allure of copious amounts of makeup and skirts as short as belts, but that's just me—I know it's no excuse, but Hailey and Doug _were_ probably shitfaced. I don't think it would've mattered _who_ Hailey had gone crying to; the end result would have been the same. It's just unfortunate that it had to be Doug. That's not to say that he's totally blameless, I just think he was in the wrong place at the wrong time—or the _right _place at the _right_ time, depending on your perspective."

Finn raised his eyebrows, looking amused. "What're you, a guy?"

"Well, I do live with eight of them; it was bound to rub off sooner or later," Rose smiled. "Anyway, it doesn't take a genius to observe the obvious."

"True," Finn sighed. "Speaking of that…things are getting worse, aren't they."

"What do you mean?" Rose asked. She screwed the cap onto the nozzle and carried the pump around the other side of her truck to work on the second tire. Finn waited until she had resurfaced, pumping air into the second tire, before he spoke. He licked his lips, looking uncomfortable.

"I…saw you sitting outside with Miller again today," Finn said quietly. "I thought you two were working on Mills eating inside."

"It was a beautiful afternoon," Rose shrugged, which was half-true. It had been gorgeous sunshine today during lunch, but it wasn't that that attracted Rose to sitting outside in the courtyard; it was avoiding people's stares and the whispers that followed her around school, people looking at her like she was some kind of Jezebel, looking at her like they knew something she didn't, and that they were superior to her because of it.

"Rose, I… I heard the new rumours," Finn said quietly. Rose paused, and her cheeks heated up, but despite that, her indignation riled.

"How could I be surprised, really?" she sighed, feeling like the weight of the world was pushing down on her shoulders. She glanced up at Finn. "What're they saying?" Finn licked his lips, looking like he'd wished he'd kept his mouth shut.

"Well…for one, the location of your little chat with Evan has changed; apparently Hailey Farmer walked in on you and Evan in a spare bedroom. And you _weren't_ talking," Finn said, wincing.

Rose took a second to let that sink in, and she shook her head. "How could people even believe that? A ton of people saw Evan and me talking in the kitchen."

"A lot of people had drunk a _lot_ of alcohol that night; people like that can be told what happened, even if it wasn't true, and they'd believe it, because they couldn't remember any different," Finn said.

"That explains Jenna brushing me off," Rose said sadly. She had thought Jenna—and Ria and Pearl—were nice girls. She had thought they might be _friends_. But again, even when Rose had given up the shared camera to Pearl because she had her dad's old camera she could use, Pearl hadn't said a word during Art today, and she had ignored her all through cross-country training.

"Yeah. I'm sorry about all that," Finn said quietly. "I thought Pearl and those guys were good people."

"Well…I still have Aimee," Rose said, making herself smile for Finn's sake. Aimee had joined her and Miller for lunch again today; her tray had already been organised by the time she sat down opposite Rose, and she had evidently been doing some homework on Asperger's, and the Yankees. Though not up to the level of comfort Miller shared with Rose, the two were getting there, slowly and steadily. She glanced covertly at Finn, resuming her pumping of the tires. "That's not all of it, though, is it?"

"No," Finn said, after a slight pause. He sighed heavily, and his expression was worrying. "People are saying it's some kind of orgy in this house, that you're just…having sex all over the place. There's money being thrown down on who you're gonna get to next."

Hurt and humiliation crept over her, making her face burn, and it was unaccountable of her, but she felt like she wanted to curl up under her comforter and cry. She fought to put a smile on her face, and glanced up at Finn. "What were the odds?"

Finn smiled, his eyes twinkling playfully, and that smile made her feel a little better. No matter what nonsense the rest of the school came up with, she knew he'd never believe a word of it, and that meant a lot to her. "Well, biggest stakes are being bet on either Sean, because you arrived at school on his Harley wearing head-to-toe leather, or Miller, because you're always sitting with him at lunch. A _passionate_ minority are adamant that I _might_ have a shot based on my—oh, what did they say—oh yeah; my 'sensitive, artistic, touchy-feely _poetic_ crap'. At least, that's how Darnell put it."

"Darnell was talking to you about this?" Rose asked. She had thought Darnell was okay. She remembered talking to him at the party; he'd accused Finn of mad-dogging her.

"He told me what everyone's saying about you," Finn said. "Even if he's stoned half the time and drunk the other, he's very astute about things like this; he said my parents would sooner kill one of us than let you get hurt. Which is true."

"What else are they saying?" Rose asked quietly.

"Oh, the usual stuff; you dye your hair, you've had like fifty ex-boyfriends, …you overdosed on cocaine and that's why your parents sent you here, you're three months pregnant with Evan's baby… You send personal strip-o-grams at Christmas, you slaughter babies to use their blood for anti-aging, um…you stuff your bras, your favourite sexual position is reverse-cowgirl," Finn said thoughtfully. Rose blushed so hotly someone cold have fried an egg on her face.

"And is this what _everybody_ thinks?" she asked, mortified.

"Well, most people know you only got here at the beginning of September, so that rules out the pregnancy bit, and apparently Pearl told people your parents are…well, that you didn't overdose on cocaine to be sent here. Darnell told everyone there's no way you'd _need_ to stuff," Finn said, flicking his eyes covetously to her breasts. "And, personally, I'm looking forward to my Christmas strip-o-gram."

Rose shot him a look and Finn grinned cheekily, chuckling.

"Come on, cheer up; it's all nonsense," Finn smiled cajolingly. "I doubt people really _believe_ any of this stuff going around.

"If people don't believe it, why are they propagating it?" Rose asked, slowly pumping air into the tire.

"It's high-school, honey," Finn said, shrugging. "At least they haven't burned you at the flagpole."

"Yet," Rosalie said dryly. She couldn't believe this. She had been a victim of gossip before, at her old school; people used to speculate about her extremely close relationship with Pogue, but, _because_ of her extra-special closeness with Pogue, a six-foot-eight biker, nobody made anything of it. But nothing like this. She had never been victimised like _this_ before.

"I'm sure it'll all blow over," Finn said encouragingly. "Just wait for one of the cheerleaders to get caught with her best-friend's boyfriend, or Hailey and Evan to get back together, and it'll all be forgotten."

Rose was quiet for a while, while she pumped the remaining two tires and checked the spare she had just acquired (she'd had to use her old spare when a tire had blown on the journey from North Carolina; Regina had been impressed Rose knew how to change a tire).

"You're real quiet, Rose. You okay?" Finn asked softly. Rose paused on her way back to the garage, shoulders slumped.

"It's just that…I've never even _had_ sex," Rose said, flushing gently. "And everyone's saying all this stuff about me, making me out to be some kind of…some kind of _scarlet_ _woman_!" Finn didn't say anything; he just reached out and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, stroking his thumb across her cheekbone.

"I'm sorry, honey," he said quietly.

"I don't understand why…why people lie about sex," Rose frowned. "It isn't anything to be ashamed of. I think it's lying about it that makes it so bad."

"Yeah. Lying. Not sexually-transmitted diseases and teen pregnancies," Finn said dryly.

"Well, yeah, but those people are stupid and careless," Rose said, and Finn laughed. She blinked. "What?"

"Nothing; just the way you said that," Finn chuckled. Rose glanced at him.

"Have _you_ ever…?" she asked.

"What? Had sex?" Finn blushed, and shook his head slightly. "No." Rose nodded.

"I would do it, though," Rose said quietly. She'd been thinking about this; if she was lucky enough to fall in love with someone, she would have sex with them, because life was too short not to take advantage of opportunities like that. "I don't think people should have sex to fit in with their friends or be _cool_ or because someone's pressuring them into it. Doing it for those reasons is just stupid. But if you love someone, I think that's all that really matters."

"How much thought have you given this?" Finn asked curiously.

"Quite a bit," Rose said honestly. "Girls think about sex just as much as guys do, did you know that?"

"I do now," Finn smirked.

"Ever since I heard what Doug and Hailey did, I don't know," Rose shrugged. "I started thinking about how Doug could never take that back; he lost his virginity to his brother's girlfriend. I mean, I _guess_ he did; I don't know."

"Probably," Finn said, wrinkling his nose; he shivered. "Okay, let's talk about something else instead of my little brother's lost virginity."

"How about him losing it before _you_," Rose smirked; Finn grabbed her and tickled her and blew raspberries on her neck until she was a paralysed pile on the garage floor, giggling manically.

"You totally giggle like Caleb," Finn said, straddling her hips. He grinned down at her, his crazy curly-wavy blonde hair gilded, broad shoulders decked out in pale-blue cotton that made his eyes achieve a colour previously unknown to the universe. Apparently, he liked her giggle; he dove back in and started tickling her again, leaning over to blow big wet raspberries on her neck that sent shivers up and down her spine to her pressure-points as she writhed and giggled breathlessly, tears of mirth rolling down her cheeks, trying to fight against him.

"What're you doing to Rose?" someone asked innocently; still laughing, Rose recognised the voice as Caleb's; Finn stopped tickling her.

"Caleb! Caleb, save me! He won't stop tickling me!" she panted, giggling.

"Hands off my woman!" Caleb shouted, and launched himself at Finn; Finn yelled and was knocked off Rose, and Rose laughed as he and Caleb started rolling around on the floor, until Finn's taut arms banded around Caleb and he started tickling his little brother mercilessly, so his shrieks of laughter and his begs for Finn to stop echoed off the garage walls.

"Alright, you three; stop before Caleb spontaneously combusts," someone said, and Rose glanced over her shoulder at the door into the kitchen and smiled at John, who had already changed into his casual clothes. "We're having a family meeting."

"_Again_," Finn groaned, pouting. John laughed.

"Nothing bad this time, swear," he chuckled. Caleb scampered, still giggling softly, into the house, and Rose and Finn followed; Rose sat down between Miller and Finn on the sofa and smiled at Miller when he caught her eye.

"Okay guys, so there's something we want to talk to you about," Regina said, eyeing them all. Rose stilled; she felt Finn tense up beside her. Had they noticed? Noticed that every time Rose and Finn were together, the air crackled around them? That they had long, secret talks in the shed and in Rose's bedroom? That they were getting _really_ close for two people who had known each other for not even a whole month?

"If this is about the rug, Doug did it!" Ian said.

"What rug?" John frowned.

"Hm?" Ian said, blushing, and then shrugged. "Oh, nothing."

"Guilty conscience, Ian?" John asked.

"What's _conscience_?" Ian asked.

"I'll take that as a 'no,' then," John said dryly. Rose smiled.

"This isn't about a ruined rug—I'll find it, Ian!" Regina warned. "Your dad and I wanted to tell you about this weekend."

"What's happening this weekend?" Evan asked.

"Well, we were talking to your grandpa in Newport, and he wanted to know when we're gonna see him next," Regina said, and Doug groaned. Regina shot him a look. "Since Caleb and Ian both have a teacher work-day on Friday, your dad and I thought we'd take advantage of that and take Ian and Caleb down to Rhode Island in the morning, and spend Friday and Saturday with Grandpa."

"You're going away for the weekend?" Doug said.

"Try to keep the excitement in your voice to a bare minimum, Doug, or we'll get suspicious," John said. _Like they're not suspicious already_, Rose thought, eyeing the brothers; _PARTY_ was practically branded on their faces, they looked so excited.

"Yeah. _If_ we go away for the weekend, you know the rules," Regina said, eyeing each of her children—and Rose—carefully. "You can have a party if you want to, but nobody upstairs, and put all the breakables somewhere safe." Rose blinked. John and Regina were going to just skip town and _let_ the boys have a party. She guessed they probably expected it, what with having five teenaged sons and all. And especially if they didn't have to look after Ian or Caleb…

"Also, while we're gone, we don't mind if you want to run away to join the circus or elope, just as long as you don't come back to live here," John added, and Rose smiled.

"John!" Regina scolded. John blinked.

"What?"

"Be realistic. You know they're not going to run away to the _circus_; Finn still bursts into tears whenever a clown comes on TV," Regina said.

"Hey!" Finn blurted.

"Well, you do, sweetie!" Regina said, shrugging.

"Clowns are _evil_. They make friends with little children and get them to let them into their houses so the clown can butcher their parents," Finn said, eyes wide. "That's not normal."

"No, that's Supernatural," Rose laughed, remembering that particular episode.

"Now, if we do go away for the weekend, we expect you guys _not_ to trash the whole house. If we get back and it's, I don't know, completely demolished, well, you'll be grounded until you're fifty," John said. "And you're to make sure you do all your homework, and make sure the house is just as it was when we left. And we don't want it to be another Christian Todd party, okay; just your friends. People you'd trust to come into this house and respect it."

"Got it," Doug smirked.

_Great. Party. With friends. Wonder if Aimee's free_, Rose thought with a tiny sigh.

"It also means that we'll miss your football game, Finn," Regina said sadly. "Do you mind?"

"Nah. You've been to every other one," Finn shrugged. "Say hi to Grandpa for me."

"We will. He asked about your paintings," Regina smiled, flicking a glance at Rose. "He asked if you'd give him one of them."

"Mm…Sure, I'll find something he'd like," Finn said thoughtfully, picking at a chip of paint dried onto his jeans.

After the meeting, Rose didn't want to stay cooped up in her bedroom, so when Finn got up to go out to the shed, she followed. They had just left the kitchen onto the patio when they heard the screeching of tires. They changed direction, heading through the garage to see the cause of the noise; standing outside, they arrived just in time to see Doug dive headfirst into the backseat of a tricked-out Honda Civic. It had fluorescent purple running lights and rims that had probably cost more than the car was worth itself. Smoke of a dubious scent billowed through the windows, and bass-heavy music pumped from a killer stereo-system. The engine roared, several teenagers also, and the car peeled out, skidding out of the property and onto the street, out of sight.

"That can't be good," Finn said.

"No. Not good at _all_," Rose agreed, sharing an anxious glance with him.

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**A.N.**: Please review. And vote, on my profile page-follow the link!


	29. The Scarlet Letter

**A.N.**: Okay, I just finished writing chapter thirty-four, which is the last chapter. I _might_ write an epilogue, but I need to sort out what I want to write!

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**Rose Amongst Thorns**

Chapter Twenty-Nine

_The Scarlet Letter_

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"Are you sure you don't want a ride, Rose?" Regina asked the next morning, Wednesday, shoving her wallet and sunglasses into her purse. Rose sat at the breakfast table across from Ian and Caleb, who were arguing over the toy from the newly-opened box of Lucky Charms. Sean was sipping coffee as he read a new book; 'City of Glass' by Paul Auster.

"No, thanks; I'm going to stop by the public library on my way to school and pick up a library card," Rose said, smiling.

"Okay. Well, if you ever do…" Regina said, checking her watch and adjusting her purse strap. "Doug! Let's get the lead out! I'm gonna be late for work!"

"It's printing! Keep your pants on!" Doug shouted.

Regina turned to Rose.

"Did he just tell me to keep my pants on?"

"Yup. He did, Mommy," Caleb said, picking out the marshmallows from his bowl of cereal and eating only them.

"That boy is lucky he did not grow up with my mother," Regina said. "He would be out of teeth by now."

"What's Doug doing?" Rose asked curiously.

"Spell-checking his 'Scarlet Letter' paper on his computer," Regina sighed. "Why he didn't proofread it last night, I don't know. I guess I should just be happy he's doing his homework this year, right? I had at least five parent-teacher conferences last year about him squandering his potential."

"Really?" Rose asked, surprised.

"Doug's the smart one," Sean said flatly. Now, Rose couldn't believe _that_.

"Not the only one," Regina shot back, frowning pointedly at her firstborn son as she grabbed her car keys. Sean ignored her and took a huge spoonful of Count Chocula.

"Doug!" Regina shouted.

"Patience, woman!" Doug said, clomping manically down the stairs. The two black eyes left over from his fight with Evan shone in the morning light. He shoved his paper into his backpack and walked right by his mother out to the front porch, where Miller was already waiting.

"God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change…" Regina murmured, as she followed her son out. "Sean! Make sure the boys get to the bus!"

"See you later," Rose said, tucking her cereal bowl into the dishwasher in its proper slot.

"Yeah," Sean replied. Rose kissed the top of Caleb's head after smoothing his tousled hair, picked out her snacks and refilled her water-bottle, and headed out to her truck.

If Doug and Sean were really the 'smart ones' in the family, Rose couldn't imagine how frustrated John and Regina must be. Doug spend all his time doodling on his clothing and being obnoxious, and as far as she knew, Sean spent all his time playing guitar, reading and working on his bike.

As she drew into the junior parking-lot, a brand-new library card tucked into her wallet, Rose saw a haphazard line of people standing along the west wall of Baker High. Squinting against the sun, she parked up and glanced through her window. Someone had tagged the school with blue and silver paint. She couldn't make out the design, but it took up almost the entire wall.

Finn was striding over to her as soon as she slammed the truck door and locked it; his mouth was set in a grim line, his eyes contrastingly wide, skittish and anxious.

"Hey," Rose smiled. "What's going on?"

"We knew it wouldn't be good," Finn said, clutching hold of her hand and striding back toward the west wall. Tucking her purse over her shoulder, Rose sped up to keep stride with Finn and felt herself go cold and numb when they joined the throng of teachers, students, administrative staff and janitors all gawking, laughing or shaking their heads at the graffiti. Someone had written '_BAKER SUCKS_' in huge blue and silver letters, and blow them was an even bigger illustration, also in blue and shimmering silver. The character was _very_ familiar, and peeing on a varsity letterman jacket.

"Well, it could have been worse," Aimee said, sidling up beside Rose; she shot Rose a smile, and Finn an apologetic look. "They could have actually illustrated their point."

A bunch of people laughed, but Rose glanced at Finn; he looked like he was going to be sick—or kill Doug. She guessed at this point, either were veritable options he was considering. Because if _he_ didn't kill Doug, John and Regina would. _If_ they found out and _if_ Doug was convicted. Unless the students and faculty of Baker High were completely blind to Doug's self-styled wardrobe and attitude problem, Rose doubted it would take long for the rest of the school to learn who the perpetrator was.

* * *

Rose had hoped that Doug's indiscretion would have shifted some of the focus away from her. Not so; somehow _her_ name got dragged into speculations about who had tagged Baker High. Maybe she was lashing out, being from a rival school as she was. Maybe she had connections with the other schools in the area—schools in Marblehead, Salem and Somerville were traditional Baker rivals. Rose even heard a group of excitable freshmen talking about Rosalie Meade being the girlfriend of the football captain of Ipswich's private school, Spenser Academy, who had come in a three-way tie for State championships last year, only to fall out in a coin-toss. The freshmen—whom Rose overheard during break, grabbing her swim stuff for gym from her locker—went on to say that Rose wasn't from North Carolina at all, that she had been sent by Spenser Academy to infiltrate Baker High through the McGowan family, to bring down their fullback.

As much as it was totally ridiculous, Rose had to admire the level of detail they had put into their theory, which was a lot better than her having single-handedly done the graffiti herself, as she had heard some of Hailey's friends mutter.

The hallway was buzzing like a horde of angry bees when Rose and Finn left Art class for lunch. Aimee was standing across the hallway, leaning against the wall with one knee bent, her foot against the wall, arms crossed over her chest, waiting for them. She moved away from the wall when they exited the classroom. Rose was surprised she hadn't left with Pearl.

"Hi," Rose smiled. "What's up?"

"They're rounding up suspects," Aimee said, deadly serious. "Chad Linus was pulled from my chemistry class right in the middle of our quiz."

"Shit," Finn breathed, stopping in his tracks as they rounded the corner into the main hallway where the admin offices were located.

"What is it?" Rose asked, following his gaze. Through the long glass panoramic panel that looked into the network of admin cubicles, which were sided by counsellor's offices and meeting rooms, Rose saw Doug. He was being shepherded into one of the offices by a beautiful older woman with long, curling caramel-blonde hair and compassionate blue eyes. "Who's that?"

"That's Ms Ellis, the vice-principal," Aimee said; Finn groaned. Doug looked at the floor as he stepped into the office. He looked like a little kid. A little kid who was trying desperately to appear tough, but knew he was about to get his balls handed to him in a Ziploc baggy.

"I could just go over there right now and smack him one," Rose said, her North Carolina twang coming out; she was angry. Had he thought he could get away with something that _stupid_?

"I'm going in there," Finn said, determination etched on his face.

"Whoa, whoa, why?" Rose said, grabbing onto the back of his backpack and jerking him to a stop. "What do you think you're gonna achieve bursting in there?"

"I don't know, but he's my brother," Finn said, raising his shoulders. Rose glanced through the panoramic window.

"What'll happen, if he gets caught for this?" Rose asked, her heart in her throat. Finn cast a glare through the window at Doug.

"He'd probably deserve it, but he could get suspended—_again_. Last time, the principal threatened another offence might cause him to expel Doug," Finn said, his cheeks colouring with an odd mix of emotions, most prominent among them probably anger, and worry. "And with what's happened, I mean—the graffiti. There's no way they'd let him off just with a suspension for that. Maybe I'll tell Ms Ellis that Doug was with me last night."

"They'll never buy that," Aimee told him.

"She's right. They'll just think you're lying to protect Doug," Rose said, which did credit to how much Finn loved his brothers, that he'd risk getting caught lying for Doug. "But _me_, on the other hand…I've been in this situation before. Let me handle it?"

"What do you mean, you've been in this situation before?" Finn asked, frowning. Rose smiled slowly.

"Remind me to show you my mug-shot when we get home today," she said, smiling.

"It's like I don't even know you, Rose!" Finn called after her, as she entered the air-conditioned office. She carefully wiped the smile from her face and walked straight for Ms Ellis's office; the door was open, and she saw that the vice-principal was nowhere in sight; a pair of denim-clad legs stuck out from the inside wall, and Rose glanced in and saw Doug sprawled on a small sofa draped in a pretty sheet to cover up the fact it was a government-funded grey monstrosity.

Doug looked up when she entered the room and hastily sat down on the sofa beside him. On his lap was a pile of notebooks, all covered with his signature doodles.

"Do yourself a few favours and sit up straight," Rose said, taking the notebooks from him. "For a smart guy, you've been pretty stupid."

"What're you doing?" Doug asked, as Rose pulled her meticulously clean notebooks from her purse and traded them with Doug's.

"If you're going to get out of this mess, just follow my lead, okay," Rose said, frowning. "Where's your 'Scarlet Letter' paper?"

"What? You're trippin'."

"Maybe so. Where is it?" Rose repeated. Doug pulled a face, reached over, and slid the neatly printed pages out of one of his notebooks. Rose took it and zipped her bag shut to hide the vandalised notebooks. Rose flicked a glance at the paper; A Comparison of Puritan Beliefs Versus the use of Nature Symbolism in Nathaniel Hawthorne's 'The Scarlet Letter.'

"Puritan believes versus the use of nature symbolism. You're not in AP, are you?" Rose asked. Doug sucked his teeth, giving her a look that said it all. She read the first body paragraph and conclusion.

Ms Ellis returned; Rose heard a charming Texan twang, and the vice-principal entered her office. She paused and smiled when she saw Rose.

"Who's this?" she asked. Rose stood up.

"Ma'am, I'm Rosalie Meade. I just started here this year, as a junior. I've come to be a witness for Doug," Rose said. "So to speak."

"I don't need your help, yo," Doug said, rising as well. He had at least chosen _not_ to wear his customised jeans today, opting for a clean, if ripped pair. Rose shot him a look.

"Well, it's very nice to meet you, Rosalie," Ms Ellis smiled. She seemed like a smart, compassionate, _astute _woman, one who probably didn't take any joy in punishing people who rightly deserved it. "Take a seat, then." Rose smiled and sat, followed by Doug, as Ms Ellis took a seat by her desk.

"Now, before either of you say anything, I think you should know that when we saw the anti-Baker graffiti this morning, we naturally assumed that some students from a rival school might have done it," Ms Ellis said solemnly. "Before we take the investigation to the police, we wanted to make sure the culprits weren't walking our own halls. You can understand how embarrassing that would be." Ms Ellis gave a little chuckle; Rose nodded. Doug shifted in his seat, obviously uncomfortable.

"Now, I have it on good authority that the, uh…_character_ adorning our west wall is one of your favourites," Ms Ellis continued, with a disapproving frown. "I'm sorry to say it, but most of your friends have already admitted to being involved. They've received suspensions, and will be doing community service for a month, as well as cleaning up the mess they made."

"Come on, man. I didn't do s—"

Rose covertly pinched the underside of his thigh.

"Doug and I were studying together last night," Rose said, overriding him before he could yelp or say something he might regret.

"Studying together?"

"Yes, ma'am. I live with the McGowans, you see—I don't know if you know about that—but Regina had asked me to help Doug plan his English paper, as he was having some trouble starting it. My teacher last year spent an entire quarter on 'The Scarlet Letter' in my AP class, so I know it cover-to-cover."

"Rosalie was helping you with your homework?" Ms Ellis said, looking at Doug.

"Yeah. She's good at writing and sh—"

"Here, Doug, I managed to read it over again a few minutes ago," Rose said, handing the paper to Doug. "I think you could've used a little more emphasis on _Pearl_ as a symbol more than a fleshed-out character, but other than that, it looks great."

"May I see it?" Ms Ellis asked, and Doug handed the paper to her. "_A Comparison of Puritan Beliefs Versus the use of Nature Symbolism in Nathaniel Hawthorne's 'The Scarlet Letter.'_ I'm impressed, Doug."

"He chose the subject," Rose said, nodding at Doug.

"How do I know you're not just trying to protect Doug?" she said. _Yup, definitely very astute_, Rose thought.

"Protect Doug?" Rose shook her head. "From day one he's been making my life hell. I don't have any reason to try and get him out of trouble; we hate each other." Not entirely true; Rose couldn't bring herself to _hate_ anyone; she might severely dislike them, but hate…? No.

"Got that right," Doug said.

"If you hate each other, then why were you helping him with his homework?" Ms Ellis asked, glancing from Rose to Doug.

"Well, Regina asked me too," Rose shrugged. "I mean, Mr and Mrs McGowan taking me in after my parents died…it'd be pretty ungrateful of me not to do that one tiny thing they asked of me, considering. Regina's just lucky it wasn't math homework Doug needed help on!" She smiled. "Besides, Doug's been trying to turn over a new leaf this year, doing his homework and everything; he was worried about upsetting Regina again."

"Well, I know _that_ is true," Ms Ellis said, smiling at Doug. "I've had good reports so far from your teachers this year. They've all noticed a marked improvement in your academic performance." For a moment, Ms Ellis looked from the paper still held in her hands, to Rose, and then to Doug.

"Well, Doug, none of your friends mentioned your involvement in this incident. We were just going on instinct here and your penchant for art," Ms Ellis said. "I can't exactly hold you responsible if there's no evidence, and since Miss Meade has been so good as to vouch for you, I'll let you go. However, I need some help rounding up volunteers for the cleanup-crew. The other boys will all be waiting for you after school with supplies, but it's a big job, so try and find as many people to help as you can."

"This is so—"

"We'll be there," Rose said, standing and gripping Doug's forearm to force him out of the office before she nailed him one. "It was nice to meet you, Ms Ellis." Ms Ellis's smile was warm and welcoming.

"And you too, Rosalie."

* * *

"Hey! You weren't crucified! What happened?" Finn leapt at her as she entered the cafeteria minutes later. Aimee had evidently been waiting with him. Doug had shoved her books at her, taken her own, and stalked off without so much as a grunt of gratitude, the little asshole.

"He got off," Rose smiled. Finn's expression was worth lying to a vice-principal and being nice to _Doug_. "Sort of."

"What do you mean?" Finn asked, his expression dropping.

"Well, he didn't get expelled—and no, he wasn't suspended either," Rose smiled, when Finn's eyes widened with alarm. "Ms Ellis put Doug and me on graffiti-cleanup duty after school."

Finn grabbed her and whirled her around, clutching her tight; he set her down again, grinning from ear to ear. "Oh, you deserve a big _kiss_! Aimee, kiss Rosalie."

"Ha-ha," Aimee smirked. Rose smacked Finn playfully on the chest. "Very funny, Finn."

"Doug and I have to get a group of volunteers together, to get rid of the graffiti after school today," Rose said.

"Ouch," Finn said. "Well, you've come to the right place." He gestured around the cafeteria. Rose sighed. She could get lunch in a little bit.

"Well, there's no time like the present; I suppose I should get started," she said. Rose knew that most people in the room had no desire to talk to her or know her, or be seen to be in any kind of contact with her; people who were gossiped about at high-school were usually deemed as contagious. But she didn't want Ms Ellis to rethink Doug's involvement in the graffitying. She decided to start with Aimee's friends, not expecting much but hoping they'd have enough school pride to overlook Rosalie's asking them to help.

"Hi," Rose said softly, approaching the table. For a moment, there was no response. Then Jenna looked up from her fruit-salad quickly and said, "Hey," back. Pearl and Ria remained silent. Rose sighed.

"I see," she said quietly. "Um…I came over to tell you—to _ask_ you, really—Ms Ellis asked me to put together a team to help clean up the graffiti this afternoon, and I was hoping you might come."

"Shouldn't the people who did the crime do the time?" Ria asked tartly. "Or did you do the crime?"

"I'm not a vandal," Rose said coolly.

"Who's to say _what_ you are," Ria said acidly. Rose felt that sting like an acid-laced knife to the gut.

"Ria," Jenna said quietly, warningly.

"I'm not a vandal, or a liar, or whatever it is people are saying about me," Rose said fiercely, the injustice and Ria's attitude rankling. "But I don't really care. If you believe any of what's going around, clearly I don't need friends like you. The fact is, I've been here less than three whole weeks and I've volunteered to help clean up that graffiti. You've already been here two years; what's your excuse?" Ria stared down at the table, looking ever so slightly smaller than she had a minute ago.

"If you think I'd do any of what people are saying I've done, then I don't care to try and convince you otherwise," Rose said. "But I hope I'll see you later."

Rose headed to the next table. She wouldn't let Ria's attitude and behaviour towards her get to her, but it was difficult. Rose had always been sensitive to other people's opinions of her. But in a way, the injustice of Ria's treatment of her gave her the righteous indignation to do what needed to be done; she had to face the student body, a student body convinced she was Baker High's Hester.

She launched into a little speech, and Rose noticed that on the other side of the room, Finn was addressing a table full of artsy types. Rose caught his eye and smiled; Finn grinned back. Over his shoulder, Rose saw Miller and Aimee sitting outside in the courtyard, not talking, but they didn't look uncomfortable.

* * *

After making apologies to a very displeased Miss Smith, Rose headed for the west side of the school. She hoped it wasn't just her and Finn, well, she wouldn't mind _that_; she just didn't want the two of them to have to clean up the whole west wall. That job would take hours. She knew Doug's presence was iffy, and no one had paid her much attention at lunch. Finn had suggested she should have worn a low-cut top or very short shorts—or maybe her leather chaps.

Rose turned the corner and froze, blinking. Finn stood in the centre of a crowd of students that included Ria, Jenna, Pearl, Aimee, Miller, Darnell and Jake, several of Finn's friends and even some of Hailey's, a few guys from the football team and others from the cross-country team.

"Hi," Rose said softly, sidling up to Finn. "Good turnout."

"Surprised?" Finn smiled.

"Definitely," Rose said, her cheeks flushing.

"I was just explaining to everyone how this stuff works," Finn said, gesturing to the floor. Open at his feet were several plastic containers full of goo. There were also boxes of safety goggles, plastic gloves and putty knives. Five ladders were lined up along the wall.

"Who put you in charge?" Rose asked, glancing around, seeing no adults.

"Oh, Janitor Steve, I guess," Finn said, shrugging. "He didn't want to wait around for you to get here, so he explained the process to me. He said something about this being his bowling night; I don't know." He shrugged again.

"Okay, so what do we have to do?" Rose asked.

"We spread this poultice stuff all over the paint, and it's supposed to suck up the colour," Finn said, snapping on some plastic gloves. "Problem is it stinks and we're not supposed to get any on us."

"Wonderful. That sounds very safe," Rose said dryly. Several people laughed. Everyone gathered around the boxes of protective gear and started getting outfitted; Finn handed Rose a pair of protective goggles and some gloves, and she snapped on both, smiling at him.

"You look so cute," he said softly, handing her a putty knife.

"Yeah?" she smiled.

"Oh, yeah, definitely; very Science-Geek Chic," Finn teased. Rose laughed softly, her cheeks warming.

Rose got to work; she and Finn were a little sceptic about how much stuff they needed to spread on the paint, how thick, but they managed to make it work. Rose was standing at her purse, taking a small water-break, when Ria showed up, looking for a band to tie her hair up in.

"Hey," she said quietly.

"Hi," Rose said, pushing the goggles up her forehead. One of Finn's friends on the Yearbook staff had come along with their digital camera and was snapping photographs, inspired by Rose's little 'community spirit' speech at lunch, and caught a few photos of them.

"So look, I…I just wanted to say… I'm really sorry about the last couple of days. I know I've been a little bit of a bitch." Humility on Ria was an odd fit, which made it all the more touching.

"A little bit?" Rose raised her eyebrows.

"Okay, fine, I've been a _huge_ bitch," Ria amended, with a little laugh. "I don't know _why_ I believed any of it, anyway. Today I heard some freshman saying you're a spy from Spenser Academy in Ipswich."

"Really? I heard I was dating the captain of their football team," Rose said. They glanced at each other and laughed. They went back to work, both hoping to get the job finished sometime _before_ midnight; with everyone chatting away happily, working together as a team, the sun streaming down its hottest, rumoured to be the last fine day before fall truly came upon them, Rose felt strangely at peace, despite the goo gagging her with its smell, the arm-wearying work and climbing up on precarious tall ladders. She had finished the varsity letterman jacket when Aimee came to mix the poultice.

"Hi," Rose smiled. "I saw you sitting outside with Miller today. Did you two talk?"

Aimee blushed happily. "Not really. I mean, we did, but…I know it'll take him a while to get used to me. I just like being around him."

"Yeah, that's 'cause he ain't talkin'," Doug said, slapping some poultice on the wall. "You'd be bored off your ass if he was."

"Ignore him," Rose said, trying to suppress her own rush of anger. "He's just angry at everyone."

"Oh, so now you think you know me?" Doug shot at her.

"Yes," Rose half-hissed. _This_ was for him not saying 'thank you' earlier today. For all they knew, she could have saved him from expulsion. She stood with her hands on her tiny waist, staring him down. "From what I read of your 'Scarlet Letter' paper, I know you're actually a lot smarter than you want people to know, you're a very talented artist and you are very sweet to your brothers; you have an awesome family but you spend all of your time being aggressive and obnoxious, as if you're some sort of tragic victim. It makes me _sick_."

Doug's face turned beetroot-purple. "You better shut your mouth, bitch, 'cuz you got no clue what you're talkin' 'bout."

"Hey!" Finn shouted, stepping in. "What did you just call her?"

"You heard me," Doug spat, face contorting angrily.

"I want to hear you say that again so you can get what's coming to you," Rose said, pushing past Finn, who was either trying to protect Rose or defend Doug, standing between them. Hurt bristled through her at the sting of that one little nasty word. "See what happens when you use that word again. I dare you."

"Apologise, Doug," Finn ordered, putting a hand in front of Rose to catch her from stalking over to Doug and smacking the obnoxiousness right out of him.

"Yeah, right," Doug scoffed.

"What is your problem?" Finn said. "You know, Rose totally saved your ass today; you could have been suspended—_again_. You could have been expelled, and now you're out here calling you names You should be _thanking_ her."

"Thanks a _lot_," Doug said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. He snapped off his plastic gloves, tossed them at Rose's feet, and stormed away.

"What a little asshole," Rose frowned after him. Finn let out a sigh.

"My parents really should have stopped with me," he said. Everyone laughed, and soon they were all back into the swing of things.

"It was really cool of you to help him the way you did," Finn said, helping spread poultice onto the spray-painted pool of urine. "Especially considering the way he's been treating you.

"You should have let me at him," Rose said. "I'd have slapped that attitude out of him."

"You would, too," Finn chuckled. He caught her eye and his sparkled. "You know, I doubt he expected you to say all that nice stuff about him. You really gave him a slap in the face with that."

"Like you once said, I don't know how to bear a grudge," Rose shrugged. "But my truck has so many dents nobody would notice another one, so he'd better watch out."

* * *

**A.N.**: Alright, finished the story, need to work on the epilogue_ if_ I write it!


	30. La Petite Mort

**A.N.**: If you don't like reading smutty stuff, ignore the last half of this chapter and go onto the next. If not, feel free to enjoy! And please review!

* * *

**Rose Amongst Thorns**

Chapter Thirty

_La Petite Mort_

* * *

Friday afternoon at lunch, Rose and Miller approached the table they had been sitting at since the cleanup; Aimee's usual table. They had tried it yesterday for the first time; Rose didn't know how Miller would react to sitting with more than two new people for the first time, but he had just sat there, silently eating his lunch, listening, and everything had been fine. Today, Aimee, Ria, Pearl and Jenna were waiting there for Rose and Miller and they already had their food. Rose could tell something was up the moment they reached the table; they were all sitting quietly, hands folded, trying not to smile.

"What's going on?" Rose asked quietly, unnerved. If some extraterrestrial beings were zapping their brains for information, well, they weren't going to get their hands on _her_ brain.

Miller broke into a wide grin and Rose finally understood. Every last one of her friends' trays had been arranged just the way Miller liked. Everything was in height order from left to right. Rose climbed into her seat, setting her tray down, and Miller sat down next to Aimee, across from her.

"Hi, Miller," Aimee said brightly.

"Hello, Aimee," Miller said shyly, blushing as he started to arrange his tray.

"Anyone sitting here?" Rose glanced up and smiled as Finn slid into the chair next to Miller's. He was wearing that pale-blue t-shirt that made his eyes turn a colour previously inconceivable by nature.

"Hi," Rose smiled warmly.

"Hi," he said softly, shooting her a smile; he nodded at the rest of the table. "Ladies."

"Gentleman," Ria said teasingly.

"What's up, Miller?" Finn asked, rumpling his little brother's hair.

"That doesn't go," Miller said, looking at Finn's tray.

"Oh, sorry," Finn replied, quickly rearranging his tray.

"God, Finn, we're all down with the technique. Where's your head at today?" Rose teased, smiling warmly at him.

"I know. I don't know what got into me," Finn said lightly. "Better?" he asked Miller.

"Yeah. This is Aimee," Miller replied, lifting a thumb in Aimee's direction. "She's my new friend." Rose smiled and reached for her Snapple raspberry iced-tea and shook the bottle before twisting the cap off with a little _pop_. Aimee was so surprised her mouth popped open into a little O.

"Hi," she said to Finn, even though they already knew each other well.

"Hi," Finn replied, smiling. "I didn't know you had a new friend, Miller; that's awesome."

"Rose is my new friend, too," Miller said. Finn beamed at her.

"Yeah, I know. That's pretty clear," he said warmly. "So, did Rose invite you to the party yet?"

"We're having a party?" Rose said, glancing up from her lunch. Finn chuckled.

"I'll take that as a 'no.'"

"What party?" Aimee asked.

"Our parents are going out of town this weekend," Finn said, grinning. "Sean's buying the booze, we're gonna have some food and good stuff, so if you wanna come, you're welcome to. It's just gonna be a small party, nothing to Christian Todd's, of course; just our friends."

"When was all this decided?" Rose asked, frowning bemusedly.

"Oh, last night," Finn shrugged.

"I don't remember you having a secret meeting," Rose said, frowning again.

"You were singing in the bath," Finn said.

"I wasn't singing in the bath!"

"Yes you were—you were singing Metallica!" Finn grinned. Rose blushed. Okay, so she _had_; she had taken a long bubble-bath, done some reading and, yes, she had been listening to Metallica on her iPod. Finn glanced back down the table. "Anyway, it's tonight, after the game, so if you guys wanna come, we might have a few beds or sofas for you to crash on if you can't drive home."

"I can't believe you organised a party without me!" Rose said, staring at Finn. She glanced at Miller. "Did you know anything about this, Mills?" Miller blushed and glanced up at her, smiling. Rose tutted and shook her head, and applied herself to her lunch.

"You got the curly-fries?" Finn said, sounding surprised. Rose glanced up, then down at her plate, where Finn was staring. She _had_ indeed picked out the big tray of curly fries, which had been drenched in chunky chilli and nacho cheese. She had added jalapenos, sour cream, salsa and grated cheese.

"Yup. I thought anything that looks _this_ disgusting, I _had_ to try," Rose said, smiling. Finn reached out and tried to steal a fry; Rose poked his hand with her spork. "Nu-uh. Your mom told me I had to be in top cheering form tonight since she can't be at the game, so I'm stocking up on carbs."

"Cheering form, huh," Finn said slowly, and a tiny smile spread deliciously into a sly grin. "Would that be in a little cheerleading outfit, by any chance?"

"Miller, slap your brother," Rose said, and without looking up from his lunch, Miller reached up a hand and smacked Finn around the back of the head.

"My, but you're _sassy_ now that you've got a girlfriend, Mills," Finn teased, rumpling his brother's hair good-naturedly. "Or should I say _two_ girlfriends."

"No," Ria spoke up. "_Five_ girlfriends." Miller glanced up and smirked at Finn indulgently; Finn just laughed and turned to his burger.

* * *

Rose had done her math homework by the time her stomach started grumbling, and she went in search of the takeout menus. They'd all decided—well, she, Sean, Finn and Miller, had decided—that they'd order in from the Italian restaurant again; Doug and Finn would eat it whether they wanted it or not. They had already phoned in their order, and Rose went to grab Finn from the shed. He had to eat and get off to school to prep for the game, and so needed time for his dinner to go down before he went off.

Aimee had cornered her—well, not really; someone as sweet-natured as Aimee was incapable of _cornering_ anyone—but she had asked what had happened at lunch; Finn had _never_ come to sit with them before. The girls had been speculating, Rose found out—especially when she and Finn had gone off to get dessert from the lunch-line—that Finn _liked_ her. She'd been blushing too much to give any sort of straight answer, but she knew Aimee had figured it out. She'd said Rose's smile was the same one Jenna gave Bobby, the same one she, Aimee, gave Miller.

Rose had admitted she and Finn had been kissing a little bit. At which point Aimee had promptly swooned, and had grinned, happy for her. Their entire conversation getting dressed after practice had revolved around Rose's clandestine 'affair' with Finn. Aimee had been swooning over how romantic it was, how they'd turned out to like each other romantically after they had had their first kisses together at the age of nine—Rose had told her about New Year's Eve.

She stopped short just as she exited the kitchen door onto the patio. The two people she least wanted to see were standing under the branches of the climbing-tree, deep in conversation; Evan and Hailey.

Rose blinked. How was it even possible that they were talking? Had Evan absorbed _nothing_ from her little tirade on Saturday night? The whole house had heard her berating him; how had _he_ not understood her? How could he _possibly_ have forgiven her for having sex with his little-brother? They both turned to look at the noise and greeted her with cold, hard stares.

"I'm going inside," Hailey said, breaking away from Evan.

Rose stared her down as she walked right toward her, but Hailey never _once_ looked at her. Evan started after the so-called love of his life, glaring at Rose. There was so much disgust in his eyes that her entire body riled with anger and indignation. How could he have forgiven Hailey for hurting him so badly, yet he still had yet to speak one word to _her_, Rose, because of something she hadn't even done.

"You can't even look me in the face, can you, Hailey?" Rose said coolly, turning around, crossing her arms over her chest loosely. "Not that I blame you. I wouldn't be able to look someone in the face if I'd spread nasty lies about someone all over school." Hailey paused at the door, but Evan whirled on Rose, his eyes flashing.

"Why don't you just leave her alone?" he hissed.

"Oh, good, are you ready for round three?" Rose hissed back, smiling. "I never did repay you for that backhanded slap you gave me. I see my shouting at you on Saturday night didn't do you any good at all; she's still got the hood over your eyes."

"Oh, please!" Hailey said.

"That's your rebuttal? 'Oh, please?'" Rose said, glancing at Hailey. "I expected more out of you, Hailey. Are you going to stand there and act like we both don't know exactly what's going on here? I never thought I'd meet anyone so wholly _rotten_ in my whole life, but you really take the cake. You're going to stand there and lie to my face, aren't you?"

Hailey glared at Rose for only a split-second before she looked down at the ground. Rose sighed.

"Ask her," she said softly, glancing at Evan. "Ask her, ask her if I ever sought her out at the party and told her that you and I kissed. Ask her. I want to see how big a liar she is." Evan stared at Rose for a long moment, clenching and unclenching his jaw. Rose sighed, feeling weary, and shook her head.

"Well, you two truly deserve each other," she said sadly, glancing between them. She shook her head and made her way down to Finn's studio. She knocked on the door and let herself in.

"Hey," she said quietly, smiling, glad to see him.

"Hey. That Hailey I heard out there?" Finn asked; he had his tongue between his teeth in concentration, one curl wilted with palest-blue paint. He kept his eyes on his canvas, and Rose didn't want him to stop working; she liked watching him paint. His entire body was riveted, humming with creativity and intensity, his arms and hands working of their own volition. Watching was mesmerising; his concentration level was admirable.

"Yeah," Rose sighed heavily. "I hope she's not staying for dinner. It's on its way, by the way."

"Oh, cool," Finn said, tossing his head, trying to get a wayward curl out of his eyes. Rose reached out and smoothed her fingers through his hair, combing the curl out of the way. Finn tore his eyes from the painting, but they still had that burning, almost feverish intensity as when he was painting, when he looked at her. Her breath caught in her throat; she felt like her heart was on overdrive, and she couldn't have looked away from Finn if Van Cleef and Arpels were offering her all their jewellery for free.

"Hi," she whispered. And then he was kissing her mercilessly. It was different from the other times. There was no nervousness, just…just all-consuming _passion_. Rose clutched him to her as he kissed her with a ferocity she wouldn't have believed of him. That intensity he had when painting had transferred to her, and if he hadn't been holding her up with an arm banded around her waist, she wouldn't have been able to stand. Rose didn't think, just kissed back, fighting him and caressing him, running her fingers through his hair and dragging her nails down his back, grasping his butt. When he slipped his hand under the hem of her top, trailing his hot fingers up her stomach, to the obstacle of her bra, he grasped a hand over one breast and then forced his hand beneath her bra; she gasped and moaned, her knees going weaker, as he grasped and flicked his thumb over her nipple. She took his head in her hands and angled him for another deep, excruciating kiss, stumbling backwards onto the bench. She reached down and grabbed the hem of his t-shirt, pulling it over his head; he paused only a second and then kissed her, taking the hem of her top, as they manoeuvred onto the bench, so that Rose was half-lying, her legs spread so he could kneel between them, taking her top off. Rose reached round, furious with her bra for being so hot and awkward on her throbbing breasts, and unclasped it, hurriedly dropping it onto the pile of their t-shirts. For a second, Finn froze; then he reached out a tentative hand, licking his lips, his gaze mesmerised, and gently cupped each breast then the other; he leaned down and brushed a tiny kiss on each, and then worked a trail up her throat to her lips, which he recaptured in a frenzy, falling into her lap, propping himself over her on taut arms.

Their bare skin brushing, pained nipples grazing, Rose panted and shook as they kissed, hips thrusting, brushing her hands over his taut arms, his shoulders, his back, under his jeans and underwear to his bare butt-cheeks, caressing them, working her hands around, gasping slightly at what she found. She could feel him shuddering, both with exertion at keeping himself propped over her and anticipation. Her skin sizzled every time his brushed against her, and she thought she could live solely off the torturous expectation of him cupping and squeezing her breasts, trailing a hand down her stomach, giving her a deep tongue kiss as he fumbled with the button of her jeans.

Being with him, it was different; there was no self-consciousness; she was _meant_ to be doing this with him. It felt so earth-shattering because it was him, it was Finn; being with him felt like she was on another planet, on some higher plane of existence where everything made her heart feel like it was too big for her body to possibly contain, where her only thought was Finn and him alone, where every smile was like balm on a heart that was slowly healing, where every glance of those exquisite blue eyes made her think dirty, naughty things she'd never thought about a boy before. Where she wanted to execute them; she wanted to live out her fantasies, the delicate, sensual dreams she had in the dead of night when everything else slept, dreams that made her body throb with aching and longing.

Now every part of her body was weeping for his touch, his caress, the gentleness of his large, skilled hands, the sweetness and intensity of his kisses, for _release_. She wanted Finn to touch her, where no boy had ever really touched her before, where she only went in the dead of night when everything else slept and those delicious dreams swept over her, filling her with an aching longing that only seeing him could mollify.

As she grasped him in her hand, amazed at the size and straining rigidity of him, his _heat_, pumping him shyly, he unzipped her jeans and pushed a hand into them, under her panties. Her breath hitched as he touched her for the first time. Now his hands were acting for hers, and as she fumbled inside his jeans, he moaned with abandon, his breath hitching as she pumped him up and down, and they kissed so passionately Rose felt like her soul was flying somewhere up in the heavens, breathless and aching, wanting more of everything. She was being selfish, and greedy, but so was he, touching her and kissing her and caressing every part of her body he could.

As she worked him, going by his moans and choked breaths, he explored beneath her panties, touching everywhere, _there_, going by _her_ hitched breath and arching back, the way her legs trembled when he reached the spot he was searching for, pressing a finger deep inside her as well; her eyes burst open as he explored tentatively, still circling and teasing her gently. Her toes curled, and she had to focus on continuing to pump her hand up and down him, while _her_ body started losing all control over itself; she curled a hand around Finn's neck and brought him down to her for another kiss; then he pressed a second finger into her and she groaned, feeling the slight pain of the tight, burning stretch, the way she closed greedily around him; she grabbed hold of the back of the bench and panted, temporarily stunned, unable to do anything but _feel_ what Finn was doing to her.

Then she felt it. Skyrocketing through her body, intense muscle contractions, great rolls of tingling, burning heat, her entire body throbbing, tensing, fireworks exploding where Finn's fingers still caressed, bucking her hips against his fingers, biting her lip so she didn't shout, her eyes clamped shut so tight all she could see was fireworks.

When the tiny explosions lulled and drifted off, her entire body relaxed more than it ever had, a feeling of complete and utter fulfilment drugging her. She couldn't have moved if she wanted to—but she did. She did want to; she did want to move, because she wanted Finn to feel this, this incredible pleasure. Slowly, she opened her eyes, feeling as if she had been slipped E or something; her body was attuned to everything, Finn's ragged pants, the heat of his skin, the throbbing of her own body, the rigid shudders of his. She curled her hand around his neck again, drawing him down to her; he propped himself up on shaking arms as she drew him in for a kiss, curling her other hand around his throbbing penis, and resumed pumping him, until he was panting into their kiss, trying to control his moans and thrusting his hips into her hand. He came, his entire body going rigid, warm, sticky stuff spurting into her hand, his arms quaked, and he collapsed on top of her.

Panting, Rose withdrew her hand, closing her arms around him, as he panted and shuddered, sweat glistening on his skin, his eyes like brilliant blue flames. He nestled his head in the crook of her neck, their chests pressed together, their hips cradled, their bodies exhausted and sated.

"_La petite mort_," Rose whispered breathlessly. That described it perfectly. Finn panted and gave a tiny chuckle in agreement. He raised himself off her, leaning on his elbows, to graze tiny, sweet kisses over her face, her eyes, her nose, her cheeks, her chin, her mouth.

"Did you… You felt it too?" he murmured, blushing. Rose, still riding the wave, smiled, her cheeks warming; she closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, so their skin brushed again. She licked her lips.

"Where did you… I mean, have you ever…?" Rose asked quietly, peeking a glance up at Finn as he trailed the tiniest, most loving kisses along her jaw-line. He paused, and looked down at her, nuzzling his nose affectionately before giving her a tiny kiss that told her _everything_. He told her in words, too.

"No, I've never…I've never done that with a girl," he whispered, and then he blushed again. "I've never had a girl…do that to me, either."

Rose reached up and traced his lips with her fingertip. She licked her lips, watching her finger trace their shape. She flicked her eyes to his, her chest rising and falling quickly.

"I have the funniest feeling in my stomach every time I see you," she whispered.

"Me too," Finn panted, sweeping his eyes over her and leaning in for a kiss. She pressed her hand against his chest, to feel his heart, that great, magnificent part of him.

"Your heart is beating so fast," Rose whispered, kissing his cheeks; Finn pressed a hand to her chest, between her breasts; she closed her eyes at the feeling, her skin sizzling at the contact.

"Yours too," Finn whispered breathily. Rose swallowed with difficulty and wrapped her arms languorously around his neck, caressing his shoulders, his hair, for a few more minutes.

Then Finn climbed off her, his hands shaking, and he turned his back to her when he stooped to search for his t-shirt. He picked up her clothes and handed them to her. Rose blinked and stared up at him, suddenly a little self-conscious. He swooped down and gave her another kiss, and that kiss eased the sudden rush of stunned disbelief, that they had actually just made each other climax here, in Finn's dirty, paint-saturated little garden-shed.

"I…I think we should go into the house now," Finn whispered.

"You—you're right," Rose said, her heart on overdrive as her hands trembled and she tried to fasten her bra. She managed it, and pulled her top on, checking it was the right way out and not back-to-front.

Finn caught her at the doorway, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. "You're so pretty and flushed," he said, achieving a little more control in his voice than Rosalie. But only a little. She pressed her palms to her cheeks.

"Am I really red?" she asked, wondering if she didn't need the letter A; her cheeks would tell everyone everything anyway.

"Only to me," Finn smiled, his eyes licking her body. "Because I know _why_." Rose's heart hammered away.

"Naughty boy," she whispered, and his eyes crackled as he grinned, and swooped in for a kiss, cradling her face in his hands. It was a casual, utterly tender kiss, and Rose skipped away with her heart flying higher than the clouds. She slipped into the house, successfully avoiding everyone. She showered and took a lot of time choosing an outfit to wear to the game; she picked out a deep V-neck black sleeveless top to wear underneath her dad's leather jacket, a pair of skinny jeans and silver-toed black leather cowboy boots that had once belonged to a Texan aunt; she did her hair up, working a teased French braid into a bun, put on minimal makeup, including _fresh_ 'Sugar Plum' tinted SPF lip-balm, stuffed everything into her purse and skipped downstairs.

She was feeling _good_!

And, even better; Hailey hadn't stuck around for dinner.

"Why are your cheeks so flushed?" Miller asked. He _loved_ instigating conversation with her now that he _could_. Rose smiled, blushing a little hotter; _she_ knew why she was flushed; so did Finn, but neither of them were going to say anything.

"Apparently, that's what sugar face-polish does to you," Rose smiled, sitting down at the table and helping herself to warm spinach and mushroom dip with warm pizza-base bread, several stuffed and baked mushrooms with garlic sauce, chicken Caesar salad, several slices of every-topping pizza, and swooped in on the tubs of creamy spaghetti carbonara and penne Bolognese before the boys could demolish it all between them; she had learned quickly that if she didn't jump in and fight for what she wanted, she'd go hungry. Finn strode into the kitchen, wearing the shirt and tie he'd been wearing all day at school due to the rules of the football coach on game-day, grabbed a plate and mounded it over with food, casting a grin at Rose as he sat down beside her, snapping open a soda.

After brushing his teeth and getting ready, making sure he had all his stuff, Finn departed in his friend's car; they all waited around until a little later, then all piled into Evan's Saab; he drove them to school, and they all grabbed tickets, snacks and drinks and Sean, Rose and Miller found seats in the bleachers when Evan and Doug had walked off to find their 'people.' Aimee caught Rose's attention, and climbed up to sit with her and Miller; Rose didn't know who was more pleased; Aimee, that she was sitting with her crush, or Miller, that he was talking to a new friend.

It was another spectacular game. The end-score wasn't as dramatic as last week's clear victory, but the opposing team challenged the Baker Wildcats in a way the last one hadn't even dared; Finn took so many hits Rose was sure he was brain-damaged, but he just got back up and bulldozed some people in retaliation. It was a common thing for the McGowans, she had learned, that they never stayed down for long after a hit. Doug was over with his buddies, pointedly ignoring the game and being obnoxious, ogling the cheerleaders. Most of Evan's friends were on the team, but a few of them from the ice-hockey and lacrosse teams were there; _Hailey_ was there, and no matter how many times Rose glanced at the little cluster, Hailey never _once_ turned to glare at her. She stood with her shoulders tense, halfway ignoring Evan unless he was talking to her directly. During a lull in the commentary, when Aimee and Miller had gone to get more snacks, Rose heard it; the catcalling, the taunting voices of girls who had nothing better to do than pick on someone they knew nothing about.

"Hey, slut!"

"Evan's over there."

"Evan's that way."

Rose glanced over her shoulder, and gave a very disdainful look to the small cluster of girls too flawed to become cheerleaders, too mean to be popular, and bitter about it. They were all smirking exultantly at each other, glad they had the opportunity to bother her. She turned back to the game, and clapped when Baker Wildcats scored another eight points from a touchdown and two-point conversion—at least, that's what Sean said.

Something cold splashed over her head, and Rose jumped, passing a hand over her hair; Sean swiped at the back of his neck and frowned; the girls up above their seats were smirking, holding half-empty water-bottles.

"Aw, what're you gonna do?" one of them simpered.

"What're you gonna do, huh?" another laughed, knowing Rose couldn't retaliate without making a scene. Rose wouldn't give them the satisfaction of a reaction.

"How was Evan; we heard about it!" another girl called, in another last-ditch attempt to rile her.

"Hey Rosalie, does Evan prefer boxers or briefs?" another called. Sean heaved a sigh and turned in his seat.

"Hey, whores! Why don't you go work another corner?" he said savagely, glaring. Rose blinked, taken aback. Sean knew swears! He could string more than five words together at once! Rose glanced over her shoulder, trying not to smile; they looked stunned, insulted, and scuttled off. Rose glanced at Sean, as he settled back in his seat with his nachos.

"Thanks," she said quietly; Sean glanced up at her.

"Yeah."

Even though he didn't say anything else almost the entire game, Rose knew he had said everything he wanted to, and that he had spoken up in her defence made it more touching. When Miller and Aimee returned, they were both smiling shyly, and Miller handed Rose a small soda and some Tootsie Roll candies.

The Wildcats won; Evan hurried over to them when the game ended, set on getting home to prep for the party before anyone could get there. They managed to round up Doug, who was protesting, and Aimee promised she'd be at the party, if only for a little while because she could _not_ have another hangover during cross-country training.

Rose agreed entirely.

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**A.N.**: Please review! If you haven't already, please vote on which name you like for Megan Meade's older, brunette sister for my rewrite of my 'Little Women' Megan Meade's Guide fanfiction.


	31. Decisions

**A.N.**: If you're of a sensitive constitution, don't read the last half of this chapter. WARNING: Contains the good stuff! The stuff you've all—_nygirl4eva_—been waiting for! I mean, more so than the last chapter!

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**Rose Amongst Thorns**

Chapter Thirty-One

_Decisions_

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The party wasn't quite like Christian Todd's. In some ways, it was a lot better; there were a lot fewer people, and the people who were there were friends with the McGowan boys, so the atmosphere was a lot more casual and fun. The best-room was devoted to a Twister-mat and a Jenga tournament, a movie playing, competing with the stereo; John's office had been locked; the kitchen was the location of the beer-pong tournament, the kegs and the food. The stairs had all been blocked by stair-gates too complicated to open after the third beer.

There was loud music playing, cheers punctuated the air periodically from the best-room, and laughter made the house ring; Rose sipped her beer and observed everyone around her. There were cheerleader-types and victorious football players basking in their glory and whining to Evan about the stairs being blocked; Evan laughed, claiming that even though he loved him, he didn't want Darnell having sex in his bed.

Some of Sean's friends were over; they were down in the den, which was where the Wii championship was being held, and Doug and Evan had seemingly reached an unspoken agreement _not_ to make another scene. It seemed like everyone in the house was expecting it, but it was Finn who regulated what music was put on.

Finn was surrounded by admirers and pretty girls whose faces Rose wanted to claw at with her fingernails. Doug was with _his_ friends; Miller had started the night downstairs, but when Aimee hadn't shown up, he had stealthily retreated upstairs; Rose had taken him up some snacks an hour ago and had chatted with him a little bit; was he disappointed Aimee wasn't at the party? He'd answered, a little bit; Rose had suggested she'd been caught up, probably as let-down by Aimee not being here as Miller was.

It was a quiet night for her; she didn't drink much, and nobody really seemed to want to talk to her; Finn was busy networking and laughing at the pretty girls' jokes; she watched them touching his arms and back and leaning into him, giggling, as they drank. Those same girls all whispered and giggled, and after a few drinks didn't so much giggle as tell _everyone_ what they thought of 'that blonde girl who lives with the McGowans,' and laughing shrilly and obviously, glancing at her.

Rose topped off her cup and sipped her beer, meandering into the best-room to watch the game of Twister. The first thing she saw was Finn and Evan's backsides. Denim was _made_ for their tushes. She was smiling and watching them try to do gymnastics whilst drinking, tangled up with Darnell, another guy and three exceptionally tipsy girls who were appreciating with loud giggles Darnell getting touchy-feely. The girls, too, were getting grabby as they wobbled for 'balance.'

"Hey, slut!" Rose glanced around when someone half-shouted not three feet from her, and jumped back, spluttering, when they threw a full cup of beer into her face.

Everyone looked around at what had happened, and half of them laughed; Finn's eyes crackled with concern and dislike and he rose from his awkward position over the Twister mat.

Dripping wet, stunned, Rose blinked and pushed her now-sopping hair from her face, gasping a little bit in shock. The girl who'd done it—one of the girls who had harassed her at the football game—laughed openly in her face.

Rose punched her square on the nose.

She'd done it before she'd even realised her arm had recoiled and snapped back, nailing the girl right in the middle of her face, so that her head whipped back. She stumbled back, caught by her friends; Rose set her beer down as the girl's expression turned murderous.

Rose had never been in a catfight before. She knew it involved a lot of scratching and hair-grabbing, and so she was prepared when the venomous excuse for a girl launched at her, intent of scratching her face of. A crowd gathered around them as the girl narrowed her eyes, looking for weak spots. She dived at Rose.

They were a tangle of limbs and nails; Rose dug her fingernails in and tried not to scream too loudly when the girl grabbed a lock of hair and pulled viciously; Rose retaliated by nearly scalping the girl, and whipping her head back to get the girl right in the mouth with the back of her head, giving her a bloody lip; the girl kneed her in the back and Rose elbowed her in the stomach, reaching back to scratch the girl in the face and neck, surging away from the girl, her leg crippled from having been kneed there only moments before. She whirled around, ready to take anything that came next; the girl launched at her and knocked them both over again; Rose wrapped her legs around the girl's waist and dug her fingernails into her forearms; then Rose felt someone's strong arm band around her waist, and, knocking the breath from her lungs, suddenly found herself acting like a lifeless Raggedy-Anne doll, held like a sack of potatoes under someone's muscled arm.

Panting, she looked up, and saw Sean. He was blinking at her as if he had never actually _seen_ her before. She wriggled out of his grip and stalked out of the room, hopped the stair-gate halfway up the stairs and latched it behind her, went into her room, closed and locked the door, and burst into tears after putting AC/DC 'Back in Black' on—loud.

She didn't know what the hell that had been. All she knew was she had been defending herself against some psychotic, drunk girl who thought Rose was some kind of Jezebel intent on bedding the most popular guy at school.

She hadn't been having a very good time at the party. Having a beer thrown in her face for no reason hadn't helped matters. A full on catfight? She cried until she had calmed down, wishing she had some Kleenex in her room.

Feeling suddenly exhausted, and in pain, Rose picked out her comfiest pair of pyjamas, the ones reserved for wearing after breaking up with boyfriends and going to bed after a failed date, grabbed her towel and slipped out of her bedroom, latching the door after her, then going into the bathroom.

She had another hot shower, which helped a little with the exhaustion brought on by shock at being assaulted and crying over it. Using her flowery Philosophy shampoo, she washed her hair and stood under the jet for a few minutes, silently crying, rinsed her hair, climbed out of the tub, and, still blistering hot from her shower, changed into her pyjamas, towelled her hair and slipped back out of the bathroom.

Finn was waiting for her outside the bathroom door, propped against the wall, his ankles crossed. He appeared to be wearing a pair of long navy pyjama bottoms and a relaxed white v-neck t-shirt; a more conservative form of his pyjamas. Rose caught sight of his expression and fought not to burst into tears again.

"Are you okay?" he asked solemnly. Rose just stared at him, forcing herself not to cry. She managed a teary nod. He wasn't fooled; he enveloped her in a loose hug. Letting out a shaky breath, Rose wrapped her arms loosely around his waist and rested her chin on his shoulder.

"You going to bed?" he murmured against her neck; tingles spread despite herself at the most tender brush of his lips against her skin.

"Mm," Rose nodded against his shoulder.

"With all this noise?" Finn murmured, his tongue darting out as he pressed a kiss to her throat. Her knees trembled.

"Why're you in pyjamas?" Rose mumbled. Finn pressed a kiss to her throat, working up to her jaw-line, and nibbled her ear.

"I'm ready to go to bed," he said softly. He pressed a kiss against her lips, then drew back and smiled softly. "Wanna watch Supernatural?"

"What?" she asked, her eyes, throat, nose and cheeks burning. Finn took her hand and led her into her room.

His television had been brought in from his room, set up on the bench at the foot of her bed, and his DVD-player had been set up, with stacks of Supernatural box-sets. On her dresser, a ton of snack-food had been arranged in bowls and bags; a Thermos of what smelt like hot-cocoa had been brought up and two mugs had already been filled and topped with marshmallows from Regina's secret-stash and whipped-cream. Some of her candles had been lit, and it was a very sweet and very romantic thing for him to have done. Rose folded her towel and Finn handed her the hairbrush and blow-dryer on the dresser, and Rose quickly dried her hair, keeping her face turned from his so he couldn't see the tears welled in her eyes. She tucked her hair-dryer out of the way and sat down on the edge of the bed, curtains of her hair blocking Finn from view, and blocking _his_ view of _her_.

Being a McGowan, he didn't let that slide. She felt the mattress dip and his arm slid around her waist; he tugged her against his front, and pulled her up to lie against him as he lay back against her pillows. Rose wouldn't let herself cry again; not over that strange, not over having a beer thrown in her face. But over being assaulted? For a little while, Finn's arms banded around her as she cried. He had brought Kleenex, and kept her in regular supply. When she had calmed again, Finn hit play on a Supernatural disc and, knowing there was no way to avoid it, Rose just let herself relax against him, nestling her cheek against his chest, resting her fingertips on his arms. She licked her lips and nuzzled his chest with her nose. They didn't talk; Finn was just…just here, with her, while the party turned into a rager downstairs, watching a TV-show they'd both seen a dozen times. They drank contraband secret-stash hot-cocoa and ate snacks and pizza. The sweetness and sacrifice of it made her fall a little bit in love with him, while feeling a little ashamed of herself for keeping him here.

"You don't have to stay up here with me," she said hoarsely, a little while later; she turned onto her stomach on top of him, propping herself up on her elbows. He looked drowsy and strangely happy.

"I'd rather be here with you any day," Finn said softly, looking down at her.

"But your friends are downstairs," Rose protested meekly.

"I've been hanging out with them since kindergarten," Finn smiled. "But you're my girl, and when you're sad and upset, _you_ come first."

"Your girl?" Rose whispered. The way he had said it…_Mm_, she sighed, the most blissful wave of contentment lulling her.

"Would you prefer angel, my pearl, sweetheart, honey, precious, or darling?" Finn murmured; Rose laughed softly, peeking up at him.

In that instant, she knew…knew that no matter what happened to her, if Finn came to her with kisses and a few warm, kind smiles, that there was nothing she couldn't get through. If he kissed her like a star-crossed lover from some epic romance again, she knew that if he asked her to leave this house today, now, and elope…she would. If he asked her to buy a backpack and a tent and go camping all over Europe with him, she wouldn't mind sleeping on the floor in a sleeping-bag, as long as she could share it with him. She could imagine them old, grey-haired, and wrinkly, surrounded by their grandchildren and great-grandchildren, their kids talking and laughing, in the backyard of some great house with a back-porch, drinking sweet-tea and sitting in rocking-chairs, lulling their littlest great-grandchildren.

She could spend her entire life with Finn. And she knew that, because she knew that two seconds ago she had fallen completely and irrevocably in love with Finn Greyer McGowan.

She let out a great sigh at that earth-shattering realisation, and felt her heart swell to overflow her chest's capacity. Seemingly unaware of what had happened to Rose, Finn just gently stroked patterns onto her lower-back, tracing her scar, her dimples; Rose fought a smile, her eyes widening, when he slipped his hands beneath the band of her pyjama-bottoms and gently squeezed. He gave soft, warm chuckle and his eyes glittered; Rose smiled and gently tugged the hem of his t-shirt up, revealing a strip of smooth, muscled tummy. She pressed a kiss to the V-shaped definition of his hipbones, stopping just short of the band of his pyjama-bottoms. She smiled, listening to his breathing hitch every time she got close, and then worked her way back up; she pushed his t-shirt up his chest, feeling how his muscles tensed with every kiss, hearing how he was struggling to breathe normally. She bit his nipples, and smiled at his choked gasp of disbelief that she had actually done that. She climbed into his lap, straddling his hips, and quirked on eyebrow at what she felt when she nestled herself in his lap. He blushed, but his expression was almost deadly serious, his eyes crackling with intensity.

They were so far over their heads.

And Rose wouldn't have had it any other way. Grinding her hips slowly against his lap, she leaned over and grazed tiny kisses all over his face, taking in the wings of his nose, the dimple at the corner of his mouth, his eyebrows, nipping his earlobes with tiny bites. His eyes were glittering when she hovered over his face, smiling gently.

"Hi," he breathed; she smiled slowly and leaned down for a kiss. It was slow and decadent and completely wonderful; when Finn's hands found her hips, they were trembling slightly. She leaned back a little bit, a thrill going through her when she felt _him_ pressing between her legs, and stared down at him. For a moment, he stared up at her, their chests rising and falling, unified, their heartbeats hammering, hands trembling.

Then, Finn reached up and looped his arms around her, gently rolling her onto her side, then her back, his weight pressing on top of her, hot and persistent and wholly wonderful, exciting and nerve-racking and exhilarating and petrifying all at the same time. She licked her lips and tried to control her breathing and her heartbeat as it thumped erratically against her chest, trying to stop the tingles that made her shiver as they swept over her body with Finn's slightest touch, with that persistent pressure between her legs from both her own body and from his. Then he was kissing her, and the candles and the duvet and the atmosphere in the room made the air thicken so she could barely breathe as they kissed, hot and greedy and selfless at the same time, completely tender and utterly reassuring and sweet, decadent; their bodies worked it out for themselves; still clothed, their flimsy pyjama bottoms did little to disguise the other's reactions to them; Rose moaned every time Finn gave a prolonged thrust of his hips against her, gave a throaty little gasp every time his hands or lips brushed against her breasts through her t-shirt.

Then his top came off; she was dropping it on the floor, and Finn quickly flipped them so she sat astraddle his hips again, reaching for the hem of his t-shirt; his muscles tensed and did the most marvellous things as he took the hem of her pyjama top and lifted it over her head; her hair tumbled around her shoulders as she lowered her arms, watching Finn lick his lips at the sight of her bared breasts, eyeing them as if they were little pieces of cake or candy that he couldn't decide which he wanted to try first. In a compromise, he pressed a tiny kiss between them, then pressed his cheek to her chest and hugged her closet to him; Rose looped her arms delicately around him, feeling him hot and insistent against her, trailing her fingertips through his hair. She leaned down and pressed a kiss against his hair, then his forehead.

They didn't need to say anything. It was written clearly on the charged air between them; it was written in the way Rose's entire body was thrumming with electricity, every time he touched her jolting through her body and making her at once giddy and lethargic.

"Do you…" Finn murmured; he blushed, and licked his lips, and panted a little bit. "…have one?"

Rose leaned down, capturing his face tenderly in her hands, and laced her lips over his, capturing them, teasing and tasting them, then slowly slid out of his lap, to her dresser, to the tiny bag she kept her secret stash in, the one Pogue had given her 'just in case'. Standing at the dresser, unzipping the innocuous little bag, Rose felt a prickle of excitement and expectation shiver through her, and then hot breath dusted her back, and Finn's arms were snaking around her, cupping her breasts, smoothing down, resting on the flat of her stomach. He pressed a kiss to her bare shoulder, then tucked her hair out of the way so he could kiss her neck, behind her ear; she turned into him, holding a little foil square tucked into her hand, shivering and hot with anticipation. He captured her lips in a kiss that was everything it should be for what they were doing, together, for the first time ever.

Kissing, Rose wrapped her arms around Finn's neck, almost tiptoeing into their kiss, as his hands smoothed down her back, to the band of her pyjama-bottoms; she felt the fabric cinch as it pulled over her slim hips, then fell into a pool of cool cotton at her feet; she stood in only a little pair of panties, kissing Finn, and wouldn't hold with that, not until he was in an equal state of undress; she carefully undid the tie of his pyjama-bottoms and let them fall to the floor. But she didn't stop there; she smoothed her hands under his boxer-briefs and pushed the fabric off him, till they fell to the floor; he pulled her in for a hot, electric kiss that knocked the breath from her, and she put her hands on his shoulders, still holding the condom, when he smoothed his hands down again to her hips, taking his time to pull her panties off.

For a moment, they both stood, naked, in each other's arms, panting, staring into each other's eyes, looking for that last-minute panic or confirmation; Finn's eyes were warm and glittering; Rose wasn't going to turn back now, not with him, not without knowing him, knowing every part of him, down to the last detail. She reached up and cupped his face in her hand, leaning in for another hot, trembling kiss that knocked the breath from her; she slipped onto the bed, under the covers, gently pressing the condom packet into Finn's palm as he followed her onto the bed, kneeling between her legs, back arched as he kissed her relentlessly. For a tense minute, Finn fumbled with the condom; perhaps it would have been easier if they'd stopped kissing, or it would have been more awkward; either way, when it was secure, he lay gently on top of her.

Rose snacked her arms gently around his torso, holding him against her; he propped himself up on his elbows and started tracing her face with kisses, tiny butterfly kisses that tickled and sent shivers down to her toes; he traced her eyes, her nose, her jaw, her cheekbones, finally her lips, all the while gently stroking her hair with one hand, down _there_ with the other, until she was panting and straining against him, wanting nothing more than for him to sink into her and get rid of that void, that aching hole inside her that she knew _he_ could fill.

When she came, trembling and clinging to him, biting her lip so she didn't scream, as hot as if she was lying in the Sahara naked at noon, she peeked open her eyes and gazed up at him, he leaned down and gave her a kiss; she reached up and draped her arms around his neck, kissing him ferociously for what he had just given her. Her entire body relaxed and yet still yearning, he hooked her knee and twined their fingers together, rising a little over her, and when he positioned himself, Rose looked up right into his eyes, and held them, when he gently rocked into her.

Her breath was knocked from her as pain blistered and tore her, uncomfortable and agonising; she panted, her back arching, away from him, digging her heels into the mattress, her toes curled from pain instead of ecstasy now. It hurt; he was too big and awkward inside her. But he stilled, and waited, gently kissing her, tiny little butterfly kisses of reassurance and solace. When the pain started to lessen, she gave him a tiny kiss, and he started to move; she knew it had been difficult for him to remain still; he pressed her thighs further apart, and they started to work together, now just one body instead of two uncertain, awkward bodies trying to figure out what to do; with his kisses, his constant, comforting touches, the tiny whispers of her name and other, pretty little names no one had ever called her before in her ear when he went to nip at her earlobe and trace another line of kisses from her cheekbone to the tip of her nose, his finger gently tracing and stroking her, it worked; they found their rhythm, a pace that gave _him_ tightness and the ability to thrust _deep_, and _her_ delicious friction and heat that made her writhe and grind against him, him hitting somewhere right at the back of her that she didn't know existed, that made fireworks explode before her eyes, waves crashing over her, her toes curling; he continued to stroke as she laved his shoulders, back, arms and bottom with attention, taking in every inch of his body with her fingertips; as she neared the brink again, she hugged him close, reaching between them to find that little place on him, to use her special trick, and as she came, she teased her fingertips over the special spot, and Finn hid his face in her neck and bit back a shout as he came.

Panting, disoriented and discovering what pleasure-pain meant, Rose collapsed onto the bed; Finn managed to roll half-off her before collapsing against the pillows, panting, his body straining, both of them sweating and flushed and hot.

Rose drifted off into a drowsy sleep, somehow aware that Finn still lay beside her, one hand intertwined with hers, the covers half pulled up over them.

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**A.N.**: I'll update another chapter with this one, I promise!


	32. Repercussions

**A.N.**: Hi, please review!

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**Rose Amongst Thorns**

Chapter Thirty-Two

_Repercussions_

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_Holy shit_.

Rose woke up peacefully; it was the fact that she woke up with a _boy_ draped around her that made her eyes widen and her heartbeat quicken. As she squirmed, trying to get some distance from this _boy_ who had invited himself—naked—into her bed, she realised that she, too, was naked, and that remnants of pain still twinged between her legs every time she moved. _Ow_.

The events of last night swept over her; the beer, the catfight, Supernatural…and _sex_. She'd had _sex_ last night for the first time. She glanced down, and the panic that had shot through her body at waking up with someone's arms draped familiarly around her eased. Finn, his hair tousled and sticking up at odd angles, his lips plump from kissing, breathing gently, looked so adorable when sleeping that she didn't want to wake him. She glanced at her clock and her heart sank; it was seven a.m.

Yes, she had come upstairs from the party very early, and she'd only had about two cups of beer…but it was a Saturday morning.

She had cross-country training in two hours.

And she had had _sex_.

Standing in the shower, she stared at the wall at the end of the tub. "I had _sex_," she murmured, stunned. She had had sex for the first time _ever_, with Finn. Her housemate, a boy she'd known less than a month, a boy whose parents had forbidden him or any of his brothers from laying a finger on her.

She didn't mind the finger on her—she smiled cheekily; actually, she thought she preferred that to anything else… The smile slid off her face.

She'd had sex with an almost complete stranger.

She blinked dazedly and swallowed, bowing her head to rub shampoo into her hair. Without thinking about it, she rubbed the shampoo in, taking much longer than she usually would. She was thinking.

Rose had always imagined losing her virginity to her high-school sweetheart, to a boy she had known for months if not years; she wanted the kind of high-school romance producers made movies about, the kind that was sweet and tentative but utterly natural because she'd known the guy for so long. She'd thought it would be the inevitable conclusion to the relationship…not the other way around.

She had never wanted to be that girl…the girl who slept with anyone her first time just to get it over with.

_That wasn't what it was_, she thought, glancing at the bathroom-door through the shower-curtain. No, what they had wasn't an epic romance; Rose doubted Finn's parents would let them even _date_. It hadn't just been a let's-get-that-pesky-hymen-out-of-the-way; they had both wanted to feel…each other. They had both known what was happening, what they wanted; Rose knew in that moment last night there had been nothing she wanted more than Finn Greyer McGowan.

But now that she was out of that atmosphere, the romantic haven Finn had made for them in her bedroom…now that she had woken up…her eyes burned, and she knew she could never take it back.

She had slept with a boy she wasn't even dating, probably never _could_ even date, while a party had raged downstairs, and Miller watched baseball next-door.

She was no better than Doug.

It was lucky that she had cross-country training, and therefore a legitimate excuse to run out of the house and _stay_ out. She ran to training, warming up, then they all ran a ninety-minute track through the woods and creeks and backcountry. Rose didn't have much time to talk; Aimee apologised for not being able to get away from a family thing to come to the party, but, really, after what had happened last night, Rose wasn't mad at her as much as she was stunned and upset with herself. Miss Smith noted that _something_ was motivating Rose more than usual, because she left everyone behind in the dust. When practice over, she refused Aimee's offer of a ride home and jogged back to the McGowans' house.

By the time she got back, she could smell strong black coffee, courtesy of Sean, who was reading at the kitchen-table, eating a bowlful of Count Chocula. He had already started to clean up the debris of the party, with several trash-bags filled with empty cups and plates and general _mess_.

"Hey," Rose said quietly, going to the fridge door to fill a glass with ice-water, and downing three.

"Yeah," Sean said, eyes on his book. Her chest heaving, her heartbeat hammering in her ears, sweat dripping from her skin, Rose ambled upstairs, slipped into her bedroom, picked out an outfit, her shoes and grabbed her purse, snuck into the shower, and met Miller downstairs while he attempted to organise the detritus scattered around the kitchen. She had combed her wet hair and was pulling it into a fishtail braid, and finished it with a see-through elastic.

"Hey," she said softly, resting her hands on Miller's shoulders, seeing that he was getting agitated by the mess. "Why don't we go out for breakfast, hm?"

Miller nodded, and she directed him out of the house, hoping that by the time they returned, there would be fewer things for him to get upset over.

They went to Jim's Diner; Rose needed major comfort-food. She got a huge Belgian waffle topped with fresh fruit, bananas, thick sticky syrup and sweet whipped cream, a big thick-thick chocolate-chip milkshake and shared a dish of curly-fries with Miller, the Curly-Fry King, who demolished the world's biggest—at least, Massachusetts' biggest—BLT sandwich, fries, and milkshake. A bottomless stomach was the gift John had given his sons—and his good-looks, but for a shy fifteen-year-old boy, the bottomless stomach was the more useful gift.

It was a quiet meal, giving Rose time to reflect and agitate herself something dreadful; Miller seemed to know something was up, and only spoke a little bit. They talked about Aimee; how she had asked Rose to apologise to Miller for not being at the party, and that she hoped he'd forgive her and give her a shot to make it up to him. That made him smile into his BLT-sandwich, and Rose smiled too, because of that little smile.

Rose paid for lunch, resisting Miller's attempts to put some of his allowance into the cheque, and asked if Miller wouldn't mind going to the Farmer's Market and public library. He said he didn't, and so Rose parked up on Second Street and they walked to West Angela Street, where the white gazebos had been erected, and people were selling their wares.

They wandered. It was nice, just being with Miller, being able to dawdle and stop and look at things. Miller's allowance seemed to be burning a hole in his pocket, because he bought a big bag of kettle-corn for them to share, and Rose took him over to the stall that sold a bunch of stuff, including old baseball cards; Rose went to the book-stall and filled a small cardboard crate with books at 50¢ and $1 apiece. She bought a posy of freesias and late peonies for Regina, and some small sunflowers for her room. Miller met up with her, looking flushed and pleased, holding a little brown paper bag and the kettle-corn. They worked their way around the market, tasting all samplers available, watching demonstrations, and Rose wanted to know if the Chocolate Labrador puppy Regina had seen the other week was still here; Poppy had found a new home, unfortunately, but she and Miller had fun making up names for the dogs that weren't as fortunate. They bought fresh raspberry-lemonade slushies at one of the food stalls and Rose bought some vegetables to cook for dinner over the weekend; she would _not_ be eating takeout every night. Miller worked on looking people in the face if they said hello to him at a stall.

It was a _nice_ day, considering how jarring and unsettling it had begun for Rose; she and Miller went to the public library and both came away with about a dozen books apiece; Miller's were on the Yankees, baseball, Shakespeare and a companion guide to Great Expectations. Rose had just picked out whatever took her fancy in the fiction section, and when they got home, the boys, including Sean and some of their friends, were playing a shirts-and-skins game of Frisbee. Rose had looked up ultimate Frisbee and knew they were playing it wrong; Miller had explained they played it by McGowan rules; really, it was just football with a Frisbee.

Rose would never understand contact-sports, and she thought she could die without having to listen to an explanation of ice-hockey.

"So, I take it there's no cleaning going on," Rose said, as she and Miller unloaded their stuff from the truck-bed.

"We cleaned!" Finn said indignantly. He caught her eye and his eyes crackled with intensity; Rose smiled to cover the sinking feeling in her stomach and her blush. _I've seen him naked_, she thought; apparently, he was having no doubts about what had happened last night. _Why would he; he's a guy_, Rose thought.

"We've been breaking our backs. Where've _you_ been?" Doug demanded.

"I had cross-country practice…then Miller and I went for lunch and to the Farmer's Market and the public library," Rose smiled. "We would've asked you, but you were probably still puking." Most of the boys looked distinctly green about the gills, so Rose wondered what they were doing running around in this heat. They should be sipping coffee and sodas, downing aspirin and Pepto-Bismol.

Some of the boys laughed. Rose grabbed the last bag of shopping and walked inside, to various wolf-whistles, feeling eyes on her backside as she walked up the porch steps and into the cool house.

The boys had cleaned; by _their_ definition, yes. The cups and plates had been put in trash-bags and thrown out; the kitchen had been tidied as per Miller's requirements; the empty pizza boxes had been stacked in the recycling pile in the garage; the leftover food had been decanted into baggies and tubs, and the pizza had been put on plates in the fridge. Several packets of burgers and some steaks stood in the fridge, with the fixings for a barbecue; salads, coleslaw, potato-salad, four-bean salad, the fixings for a Greek salad, and devilled eggs, beets to cut up, corn on the cob.

"We're having barbecue later," someone said, and Rose glanced over her shoulder; Sean had emerged and was going through the titles of the second-hand books she had bought at the market.

"Cool," Rose smiled. When Sean had grabbed a cup of coffee and gone back outside, Rose grabbed the vacuum and Swiffer and started to work; she vacuumed the whole of the downstairs, cleaned the downstairs bathroom, Swiffered the kitchen floor and tidied everything. By the time that was finished, it was nearly three o'clock, and she had homework to do, so she went upstairs, turned on Motörhead and finished her History reading and note-making, planned her next English essay for _A Midsummer Night's Dream_, did her French grammar homework and tidied her notes, and then had to bow to the inevitable and asked Miller for help with her math homework.

The guy was truly gifted. It didn't piss her off one little bit that he could just look at the page in her textbook for a minute and then was teaching her how to do the problems in a way that, bless him for trying, Mr Jones her teacher just hadn't been able to get across to her.

Didn't mean she didn't lose all faith in her abilities as a juvenile mathematician, flung her pencil down and smacked her face against her math textbook in frustration. Miller patted her back and Rose pouted and grumbled but eventually got back to work.

When she and Miller went downstairs, having _just_ finished their math homework, Rose paused and sniffed; someone was already cooking the steaks and burgers; she and Miller walked into the kitchen, and Miller stopped short, glancing at Rose from the corner of his eye.

Sean, Evan and Finn all stood around the island, making four-bean salads or wrapping corn in foil, making veggie kebabs to grill with eggplant, zucchini, peppers, tomatoes, mushrooms and chunks of red-onion, tossing a Greek salad. Someone had gone out and bought a big sticky chocolate Bundt cake for dessert. Rose wasn't surprised that Doug wasn't there; but that the other boys were helping each other prepare a meal… She reached for her digital camera in her purse, which she had left down at the kitchen-table, and snapped several photographs, also on her phone, sending one to Regina's cell-phone so she could see.

"Hey," Finn smiled, his eyes licking her as the boys noticed they had arrived downstairs. Rose smiled, her stomach going all wobbly, and stepped closer, eyeing the spread.

"Do you need any help?" Rose asked. She wasn't used to feeling irrelevant; she was in charge of the kitchen.

"Er…if you could set the table," Finn shrugged. "We're eating outside, as it's so nice out. It's supposed to get cold this week."

"Mm. Wonderful," Rose grimaced. _Cold_. She didn't like the sound of that. Miller grabbed a tablecloth and Rose counted out cutlery and plates; Sean had retreated outside to the grill, and was standing over the steaks and burgers whilst drinking a sweating Corona. Miller spread the tablecloth, and helped Rose set the places, and bring out the dishes already prepared to eat.

Rose went inside and grabbed the big packet of organic strawberries she had bought at the market; she rinsed them, cut off the tops, and cut them up, sugared them and grinded a little black pepper onto them, mixing them up; she covered them and set them on the side for later, to eat with the chocolate cake.

It was a strange day. Strange, because despite the colossal thing that had happened last night, life went on as normal. Only Rose and Finn knew what had happened and she suspected only she was feeling the repercussions of being as hasty as they had been.

Sitting at the table, surrounded by one boy who rarely looked up from a book, another boy who had previously slapped her and didn't want to even look at her, one boy whom she had just lost her virginity to, another boy learning to deal with Asperger's, and another boy who hated basically everyone at the table, it was just a normal day, except the lost-virginity part. Every time Finn brushed against her, her body reacted, and she knew…

She knew she hadn't made the wrong choice. It would have been him, anyway…she _thought_. But doing it last night, during a raging party, after not even a month of knowing him…?

No; she shouldn't have done it.

She was sitting curled up on her bed after dinner, eating a heaped plateful of chocolate cake, strawberries, Ben & Jerry's ice-cream and Cool Whip, reading the entries she had made about the photographs of Lucia; she reached for another packet of photographs and uncapped her pen with her teeth, and started to write.

By the time she had finished writing about every single photograph, whether it was just a little line, something Lucia or her parents had said that day, or an epic anecdote, she had written something for each photograph, and was proud and glad she could still remember every tiny detail. She was proud and ashamed at the same time, that she might have but hadn't forgotten her little sister.

Finn snuck into her room just as she started to watch the long, BBC-production of Pride and Prejudice. He came and sat on the bed next to her, not touching, just…sitting. Until the first episode ended with Jane and Lizzy returning to Longbourne, when he reached for the remote and hit pause; he sighed, and caught her eye.

"You've been avoiding me all day."

"No, I haven't," Rose blushed, but she knew she _had_. Cross-country training couldn't be counted, as she had her commitments…but breakfast with Miller, and the Farmer's Market…the library…all excuses not to go home, not to have to see Finn and have _this _conversation. The 'I thought last night was great…but I think we should just be friends' conversation she knew they had to have if they were going to live with each other for two more years. She mumbled into her knees; "I royally screwed this one up."

"What're you talking about?" Finn said, gently taking her hand. Curse her, her body responded to that! She took a shuddering breath and glanced over her bedroom. She shrugged, too embarrassed to really tell Finn what was on her mind. "Rosalie, come on, you can talk to me about anything, you know that… You think…you think we rushed into things last night."

Rose glanced up, flushing. Either he could read minds or she was just very transparent.

"Don't you think?" she mumbled. Finn exhaled heavily.

"I think…we could've taken things a little slower than we did, yeah," he said carefully. Rose glanced up; he licked his lips, his cheeks flushing embarrassedly. "I…I thought you were…that you wanted to…"

"I did," Rose said quickly, then blushed embarrassedly. Finn frowned.

"I don't…understand," he admitted, sighing softly. He reached up and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. "If you wanted to, why…why d'you think we shouldn't have done it?"

_Because I'm in over my head, falling in love with you_, Rose wanted to say, but she didn't; "Because we have to live together," she said, glancing up. "We have to live with each other for two more years. Your parents already forbade you from even getting _ideas_ about me; what'll happen if they ever find out we—_had sex_," Rose said quietly, flushing again. Finn bit his lip.

"They'd…be disappointed that we went against their rules, and…they'd probably castrate me, and they'd be worried about you," Finn said, flushing. All very astute, very real reactions for John and Regina. Except the castration part; she didn't think they'd do that to Finn. But they would be disappointed, and worried. Finn swallowed and caught her eye. "They'd be angry at me for taking advantage of you."

"You didn't!"

"But you—you just said you think we shouldn't have done it!"

"I didn't say that," Rose protested, her heart in her throat; heat washed over her face and throat and she licked her lips. "I said we shouldn't have done it…when we _did_. I didn't say I didn't want to, period; and I didn't say that I didn't want to do it last night—because I did."

Finn frowned again, but it was more subtle than last time; he looked confused and a little hurt; Rose leaned forward and brushed a tiny kiss against his lips.

"Finn, I never said I didn't want to. That would make me a liar. Because I _did_ want to, and when we were… I mean…even though it hurt, I still…still liked it," Rose blushed.

"You did?" Finn murmured. Rose nodded and reached for another kiss.

"Mm-hmm," Rose said softly. She sat back and smiled shyly, her cheeks flushing. "I liked it a _lot_…being with you, that way…"

"Me too," Finn whispered, tracing his lips over hers. Rose slipped her arms around his middle and rested her cheek against his chest. She heard his heart beating, and his sigh. "So…What do we do now?"

"I don't know," Rose half-whispered.

"Well, we can't let my parents know," Finn said thoughtfully.

"No," Rose agreed.

"They'd probably kill me. Or send me to a monastery."

"I don't think they'd do that," Rose said, laughing softly. "They might ground you till you're forty…"

"Seriously bad for my social life," Finn tutted softly. Rose smiled. "Alright, so we just…just keep this to ourselves."

"Yeah," Rose said softly. _Keep it to ourselves, like it's something we should be ashamed of_, she added, sadness soaking through her body.

It was late when John and Regina returned from Portland, Rhode Island, with a groggy, grumpy Ian and a sleeping Caleb. Rose and Finn were watching Supernatural and eating second-helpings of dessert, while Finn sketched and Rose put together some pages for Lucia's scrapbook. The boys were tucked straight to bed, and Regina and John saw Rose's light on and came to say goodnight before they turned in, tired from driving; they saw Finn sketching, and smiled, thinking that she and Finn were probably getting to be very good friends.

"Okay, so that wasn't so awkward," Finn murmured.

"I don't have a red 'A' on my chest, do I?" Rose whispered back, turning to Finn; he took his time eyeing her chest, then smirked slowly.

"No," he said, his eyes twinkling.

"That's strange. I _feel_ like I have an 'A' on my chest," Rose said. How could Regina _not_ have noticed the huge flashing neon sign that said "_**WE HAD SEX LAST NIGHT!**_" above their heads?

Finn just chuckled and returned to his sketchbook.

Rose glanced at him, taking in his pretty profile, the broad sweep of his shoulders, his lean, taut arms, his large, talented hands. His eyelashes, the plump curve of his lips, the sweep of his cheekbones. No, she didn't regret doing it with _him_; she wasn't sure they'd done right by doing it _last night_, after not even three whole weeks of knowing each other.

Sunday was a lazy day. Rose woke up later than usual, mostly because she and Finn had stayed up late watching Supernatural and talking, working on their various art projects. Finn had at least made it back to his own bed, which was good! She put on her relaxed running gear, intent on going only for a light jog downtown to meet Aimee, who said she would be going downtown to get a coffee around midday, and was surprised when Miller peeked through his open door from his desk and smiled.

"Can I come with you?" he asked. Rose blinked.

"I—if you want to," she said, a little stunned. None of the boys ever wanted to go running with her—not that she'd offered or they'd asked—but she would have thought going running with her would go against the house-wide freeze-out Doug had orchestrated. Miller was already wearing a pair of shorts and a Yankees t-shirt, laced up his sneakers, and followed her downstairs.

"Where are we going?" Miller asked happily, following Rose out of the house after she'd tucked her cash and phone into the little zippered pouch around her upper-arm with the iPod she wouldn't use.

"Uh, downtown," Rose said. "I mean, if you don't want to go that far, we can turn back; I don't wanna have to call your mom after rushing you to the hospital." Miller smiled, flushing pleasantly.

"Downtown," he nodded. Rose glanced at Miller and smiled.

"Aimee might be there," she said, and he glanced at her, and then blushed again, looking down at the floor; his smile was tiny, but Rose caught it.

They set off at an easy pace; Miller didn't complain if she went too fast; he just kept running steadily, at his own pace, the same way he did everything else, the way he was comfortable; she slowed her pace, and they ran perhaps twenty minutes, maybe half an hour, via the easy route through the park, before Meadowlark drive-thru dairy came into view. She called Aimee's cell-phone number, walking with Miller to the John Belucchi Memorial Park, and met Aimee, who was sipping an iced latté from Starbucks, similarly dressed in running gear, her face clean and glowing, her blonde hair falling in chunks around her face, having fallen out of its ponytail.

"Hi!"

"Hey," Aimee grinned, as Rose dropped onto the ground, Miller following her. "So, I heard about the catfight on Friday."

"Oh," Rose said, feeling her face flush. "Yeah… I…don't really know what happened."

"I wouldn't worry about it," Aimee laughed. "Cherie Anderson is just one _crazy_ chick. It's my bet she's in the running for Most Likely to be Seen on Jerry Springer, or locked up with a white jacket. Everyone I've talked to said you got some good licks in." Rose shrugged.

"Just defending myself," she mumbled.

"I heard," Aimee smiled. "Well, I'm sorry I missed _that_. 'Cause I would've jumped right in there with you! It's drama, drama, drama at the McGowan house, isn't it, Miller?"

"'Lo, Aimee," Miller said quietly, chancing a covert glance at the girl. He smiled to himself, and Aimee beamed.

It was nice to get out of the house again; it was nice just to sit and chat with Aimee, without anyone eavesdropping or gossiping or staring. Aimee wanted to go and get a snack from Meadowlark Dairy, so Rose gave Miller some money, and winked encouragingly at him; she remained in the park, lying on the grass, glancing after the pair as they walked across the park, to the drive-thru dairy, probably not talking much, but not uncomfortable about it.

Rose hadn't realised she'd dozed off; Aimee's happy laugh woke her and she blinked dazedly, for a moment disoriented; then she saw dappled sunlight streaming through the swaying, swishing branches of a weeping willow, and two smiling faces looking down at her.

"How long were you gone for?" she grumbled, groaning as she hoisted herself into sitting-position.

"Long enough, I guess," Aimee laughed.

"I bought you this," Miller said quietly, handing her a swirled chocolate-vanilla frozen-yoghurt cone. Instead of buying a big one for himself like she'd told him, he'd gone ahead and bought two little ones for the same price; his sweetness was always touching. Rose smiled and accepted her ice-cream, and her change, and they continued to talk and laugh, Miller not so much of the former, more than usual of the latter; when Aimee had to leave to make it back to her house for a late lunch, Rose and Miller slowly made their way back to the house.

"I told you Aimee was lovely, didn't I?" Rose smiled, glancing at Miller, as they walked back across the park. "Do you like hanging out with her?"

"I like Aimee," Miller said, shrugging awkwardly. He looked pleased and a little unsettled, but definitely happy that he had been able to do something out of the ordinary—and seen Aimee in the process.

"Good," Rose smiled. "Because she likes you, too. You're getting better at talking to her."

"I practiced again," Miller said, and his smile grew. Rose linked arms with him and leaned her head on his shoulder as they walked. She sighed.

"Most people don't appreciate what a special guy you are, Mills," she said sadly. He was such a _great_ kid; he was quiet, but he was thoughtful and sweet when he broke out of his shell. He was a very _smart_ guy, with a 4.0 GPA almost his entire school career.

"Doug says I'm Special-Ed," Miller said, sounding a little sad. Rose sighed.

"I think I'll kill him," she said quietly. Miller chuckled softly.

"I'll come and visit you in prison," he said, and Rose laughed.

"Miller just made a funny," she teased.

"Rose…" Miller said thoughtfully.

"Yeah?"

"Are you in love with Finn?" Miller asked. Rose blinked, and stared at the concrete as they walked. Her breath hitched in her throat, and her heart hammered in her mouth.

"What do you mean?"

"The way you look at him. He looks at you the same way," Miller said thoughtfully. "I think Finn is in love with _you_."

"Really?" she forced herself to reply.

"I wouldn't mind if you married my brother," Miller continued, his expression thoughtful. "I wouldn't mind having you as my real sister, instead of just pretend."

"You like me being your pretend-sister?" Rose smiled softly, looking at Miller. His cheeks flushed a little, not as much as when he was with Aimee, and he smiled only slightly, concealing what he really thought.

"It's alright," he said, and Rose laughed, following him into the McGowans' property.

Ian and Caleb were bubbling with excitement about having been to see their Grandpa, who had bought them presents and taken them to a baseball game and a hot-rods car show and a demolition derby, let them make chocolate milk made with chocolate-syrup, _and_ let them have chocolate milk with their Cookie Crisp cereal.

Rose was wary of what Miller had said about Finn, and was careful of _looking_ at him in any particular way; Caleb requested Rose make her "special zucchini" for dinner, so Regina stepped aside and let Rose have free run of the kitchen to prepare enough of Rose's Carbonara Recipe to feed ten people; she cut up enough zucchinis and enough bacon for ten people and grabbed the tub of cream, the yellow cheddar, parmesan and an egg, and mixed the liquids together with some black-pepper and the cheese, browned the bacon and zucchinis, and cooked enough pasta to feed a militia, drained it and mixed the lot together, by which time the boys were starving and setting the table, pouring drinks, gloating over having been to see Grandpa, who had let them eat corndogs and huge funnel cakes until Ian was sick.

"Thank you for that, Caleb," Rose said, watching Caleb imitating Ian retching. Caleb shot her a grin and scuttled off to his seat, when Rose carried the vat of carbonara pasta to the table; everyone crowded around; Sean set aside his book, Doug stopped being obnoxious long enough to scarf down a huge helping of pasta, Regina and John asked about the party, and nobody mentioned the catfight or the fact that Rose and Finn had had sex.

* * *

**A.N.**: Please review. And VOTE on the name of Evan's future Mrs McGowan! Ella, Evelyn "Evie," Poppy, Tamsin, Cecily or Samantha "Sammy."


	33. It's Different for Girls

**A.N.**: I burst into tears writing this one! Might've had something to do with listening to the Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers soundtrack; orchestral music makes me weepy.

* * *

**Rose Amongst Thorns**

Chapter Thirty-Three

_It's Different for Girls_

* * *

Monday was a good day; Rose got an A+ in her French pop-quiz, got an A on her History essay, her last English essay was used as an example for paragraph structure, and it was taco-salad day. People still whispered about her and stared, but she was getting used to it. She and Miller both sat with the girls for lunch in the cafeteria, as it was _raining_, and Finn joined them halfway through lunch. Evan was _civil_ to Rose, and Hailey ignored her during cross-country training, which made it a very _good_ day.

* * *

Tuesday started out…badly. When she stepped out of the bathroom, she realised that Caleb had found her condom stash; there were no Lucky Charms left in the bowl and her favourite snacks had already been divvied out amongst the brothers; one of her tires exploded on the way to school, with Miller and Finn riding shotgun; they were all late to their classes, and she had a hard-ass substitute in History who gave her lunchtime detention for being late.

She was sitting in study hall during her lunchtime detention, starving and irritated by the substitute teacher, trying her best to keep focus on her book, The Age of Innocence, but the whispers of the girls sitting at the table near hers kept annoying her, and she heard her name once or twice.

"Did you hear what she did?" one of them breathed; Rose reread her sentence.

"No, what?" another one whispered.

"She slept with—"

"_Finn McGowan_," two girls said at the same time. The third gasped.

"_And_ Evan?" she whispered.

"Uh-huh," the first said, and then Rose heard them gasping and whispering even quieter, laughing unkindly.

She stared at her book, rereading the sentence for the third time, her heart in her mouth. _How did they find out?_ she thought. _No one_ knew she and Finn had slept together. _Well, obviously, _he_ told_.

Indescribable hurt swept over Rose.

Finn had _told_ someone they had slept together; he had gone against what he'd promised her about not telling anyone and he'd _told_. And now mean girls were whispering about it behind her back, thinking she'd now slept with both Evan _and_ Finn McGowan.

At home, after cross-country practice, where nobody but Aimee spoke to her and yet everybody had something to say _about_ her and kept giving her sidelong glances full of meaning, during which it had rained, Rose drove home and parked up by the barn. Sean was working on Finn's car, his face, arms and t-shirt streaked liberally with grease.

"Hey, Sean, have you seen Finn?" Rose called, climbing out of the truck, glad the rain had relented to a drizzle.

"Studio," Sean replied, leaning over the hood of the Impala. Rose nodded and said, "Thanks," and made her way around the house, down to the brook, where the shed door stood open a crack for some air; she saw Finn already working on a canvas, the back of the painting facing her. She knocked gently on the door, but didn't enter the shed.

When he noticed who it was, Finn's face illuminated with a brilliant smile that made his eyes glitter. "Rose! Hey… Aren't you gonna come in?"

Rose stared at him, her eyes burning; they brimmed with tears. She took a deep breath, suppressing them, and blinked them away.

"Everybody knows," she said hoarsely, her throat burning. Finn's eyebrows flickered.

"Knows what?"

"Finn, they _know_," Rose said, her lip trembling, as she fought not to cry. After lunch, all she saw anybody doing was whispering behind her back and eyeing her as if she was something unpleasant stuck to the bottom of their shoes. They made up nicknames concerning brothers for her that they'd whisper (or not) to her when they passed her in the hallway, passed notes to her and smirked whenever they laughed at something she couldn't hear. "They _know_." Finn put his paintbrush down. "Finn, did you tell someone?"

"What?" He looked genuinely taken aback at her question. "No."

"Well _I_ didn't tell anyone," Rose said softly, her voice choked from bottled-up emotion. "So someone had to."

"Rose, I swore to you, I'd never betray your trust with something like this," Finn said earnestly, and it showed in his eyes; he never would betray her. He'd never intentionally hurt her feelings. He'd proved that already.

"Then how do they _know_?" she choked, clenching her eyes shut. Finn looked around the shed, seemingly lost for words; he raised his arms and lowered them helplessly.

"I don't know, honey," he said softly. "Maybe this is someone's speculating getting out of hand. You know how high-school is. Last week they were already betting who you'd get to next. This is probably just escalating from that."

Feeling like she just wanted to have a hot bath and a big cry, Rose nodded and let tears well up in her eyes. "I think that we…we shouldn't…talk at school…anymore," she whispered.

Leaving Finn looking stumped, Rose walked back to the house just as the heavens started to open; almost soaked through, Rose slipped inside and upstairs.

Feeling distinctly miserable, she collected her bath things, her iPod and The Age of Innocence, and sank into a huge, fragrant bath. But she didn't read for much of it, though she had her book open. All she could think about was the look on people's faces, the way they whispered and laughed unkindly behind her back, the way they seemed to _know_ everything and taunted her with that. Compounded by the unkindness of Evan, the indifference of Sean and the obnoxiousness of Doug, it all compounded to make her _very_ unhappy.

* * *

It only got worse on Wednesday. Jenna and Pearl, no doubt encouraged by Ria, ignored her. They didn't make any space for her to sit with them at lunch, and Rose ate her lunch alone. Miller "wasn't allowed" to sit with her, he said; he sat outside under an umbrella, listening to the game. She felt like she was going to burst into tears at any moment, as unkindness and hatred poured in from all sides, making her feel like she was two inches tall.

During Art, someone was using one of the computers, and a rather large crowd had formed around them, laughing and whispering about something on the internet they'd found; on her way to the cafeteria, someone bumped into her and tossed a crumpled up piece of paper at her; it caught on her hood, and when she smoothed it out, she saw that an internet address had been scrawled on it.

The only person who caught her eye all day was, strangely enough, Doug. To deserve _his_ attention, Rose knew she was very far up that creek with no paddles. He had caught her eye, where she sat alone at an abandoned table in the corner of the cafeteria because of the rain, and something strange had flickered over his face, before she'd felt another wave of crippling emotion pass over her and tucked her chin down, focusing on her tortilla soup.

She wetted a paper-towel under the faucet in the bathrooms of the locker-room, rinsed it and unfolded it, and walked to her locker. In big letters, written in red lipstick, were the words '_Tramp'_ and '_Slut_,' with '_WHORE_' written diagonally down it.

The lipstick didn't come off easily; it smeared, and stained, and it took her almost ten minutes to clean the red residue from the gold-painted metal locker-door. She didn't know who had done it, or why they had felt compelled to, or what she had done to deserve it, but Rose cleaned it up, not wanting anyone else to see it or a janitor to have to clean it up. By the time she had the locker looking like new, she was already very late to cross-country training, and her hands were stained red. She jogged out to the centre of the field, where Miss Smith was taking roll and giving out notices and reminders. Rose knew she would be mad, and rightly so, but already the injustice rankled, knowing it wasn't her fault.

"Rose, you're late," Miss Smith said tersely, when Rose joined the group; Aimee gave her a worried glance.

"I'm sorry," Rose said quietly.

"I don't want apologies," Miss Smith frowned. "I expect you to be here on time."

"Yes ma'am," Rose said softly.

"Is it wrong to enjoy this?" Vithya Jane asked one of her friends, who snickered. Rose flushed but tried to ignore them.

"Alright, let's do our stretches," Miss Smith said. "Jake, you lead."

Rose had a very bad practice. She had spent all day being bullied and called names; people had passed notes to her—_boys_ had passed notes to her—all day, asking for favours, and doodling crass little sexual drawings, asking which was her favourite position. They had asked her which of the McGowan brothers had been better, and which one she'd go on to next. The girls had been even meaner. Boys were just interested in sex; girls picked apart every single tiny detail about Rose's appearance, character, tastes, friends, her diet, her clothes, her car, her intelligence. They whispered amongst themselves and whispered obviously and laughed loudly, smirking at her, whispering, staring across the cafeteria at her.

She did not have a good practice; everything just compounded and caused her so much upset that, for the first time ever, she lagged behind at the back of the group on their run.

"Rose, what's wrong with you today?" Miss Smith shouted up ahead. "You're being lazy." Rose panted and felt exhaustion, both physical and mental, collapse on top of her, and could barely lift her feet to keep running.

"I guess Finn McGowan banged the energy right out of her," she heard Hailey Farmer's friend Jessica remark, up ahead, and closed her eyes, wiping tears and rain from her face.

She didn't stick around for a shower and after-practice chats; she grabbed her stuff and left school, got into her truck, and drove to the McGowans'. Standing under the blistering jet of the shower, she pinched her eyes in her hand and tried to stifle the sounds of her crying, her entire body trembling despite the searing heat of the water.

Due to the enormous thunder-clouds rumbling over the town, blocking the sun, and the rain that rendered seeing even ten feet in front of you an impossibility, the entire house was dark, and dreary; only the sounds of Caleb's and Ian's giggles down in the den brought life to the house; Rose turned some of the lights on as she walked downstairs, in her comfy pyjamas, her brand-new pale suede knee-high Ugg boots and her dad's oldest, most broken-in and comfiest black sweatshirt with the embroidered blue-and-orange Charlotte Bobcats logo; she had dragged her hair into a rare ponytail and went to warm a glass of milk to drink while she attempted to do her homework at the kitchen-table.

She was listening to the Nessun Dorma, which had always made her cry, when someone sat down at the table. Rose glanced up; it was Sean. And he was without a book for the first time since Rose had seen him; even when working on his bike or Finn's car, he had a paperback tucked into the back pocket of his jeans.

"What're you doing?" Rose mumbled. Sean stared at her.

"What?"

"Don't you know you're sitting with Baker High School's slut?" Rose asked sadly, eyeing him. He blinked again.

"They'll get over it," he said quietly. Rose stared at him, confused.

"Who'll get over what?"

"Whatever is happening at school. They'll get over it," he said. Rose stared at him, not believing him.

"It's different for girls," she said quietly. "You can sleep with whoever you want and people think you're cool… I…"

"You didn't have sex with Evan," Sean pointed out. Rose looked down at her notebook, stifling a sigh.

"No, I didn't sleep with Evan," she agreed. _But I slept with Finn, and everyone's making it seem like I'm some kind of jezebel_, she thought. _They're making me feel like having sex is the worst thing in the world I could ever possibly do_. At this point, she felt it, too. She felt like she… She felt like she had committed some huge, unforgivable crime by showing her love for Finn. Because she did love him.

That was why she was in so much pain.

She and Sean stared at each other for a few minutes; then he went back to the barn to work on his bike or hang out with his musician friends; Rose continued with her homework, and refilled her cup of warm milk, trying not to let it show when the little ones came tearing into the kitchen for snacks and things just how upset she was.

Finn didn't approach her; he had taken what she'd whispered yesterday to heart and hadn't said anything to her at school, and hadn't been to her bedroom or even stayed in the same room for more than a few seconds if they were alone in it together.

She was still downstairs when the doorbell rang, and John, who had returned from work rather earlier than usual, answered. From her position at the kitchen table, she could easily hear John's voice, and the voice of their guest.

"Ben Farmer! Long time, no see!" John said, laughing. When he spoke next, his voice was solemn, anxious. "Are you alright…you look like you've just seen a ghost."

The man who spoke had a warm, kindly voice dripping with sadness. He reminded Rose of her dad.

"I want you to know…Hailey put some stuff on the internet about Rosalie," Ben Farmer said; Rose suspected Ben Farmer was Hailey and Aimee's dad. "Other kids added to it, but I'm pretty sure Hailey's the one who started it."

"Stuff on the internet?" John said, obviously stumped. "What're you talking about?"

"It's bad," Mr Farmer said quietly, his voice deadly serious and deeply regretful. "I'm not gonna lie to you. Cheryl's at home now with her, trying to figure out what in the hell possessed her. I felt like I owed Rosalie an apology in person. Aimee's been talking about her new friend a lot at home; Rosalie doesn't deserve this, not after what she's been through the last few months."

Rose picked up her things and tiptoed up the back stairs, avoiding John and Mr Farmer. She tucked herself into her room and took her laptop, and the piece of crumpled-up paper that had been thrown at her earlier today, typed in the address, and felt a wash of hurt crash over her, more painful than anything she'd yet experienced.

She clicked on the Google link for 'The Official Rosalie Meade Slam Page,' and started to cry as she scrolled down and read what total strangers had to say about her; they had cut out her face from a photograph and animated it to rub against Evan's and Finn's grinning faces; they had used SLUT repeated over and over as a backdrop for the photograph taken of her during last year's Homecoming Court crowning ceremony, had drawn beards and moustaches on other pictures of her, written lists speculating who she'd slept with and who she _would_ sleep with, said every mean thing that could be said about a person, and the thing that really broke her heart was that complete strangers could do this to her without any guilt.

Caleb came to call her downstairs for dinner; it smelt good, but Rosalie didn't even notice what she was eating, and she kept her gaze lowered throughout the meal; John and Regina were unusually quiet, and the whole meal was solemn and tense. Rose knew she wasn't the only one who'd seen The Official Rosalie Meade Slam Page.

Back upstairs in her room, Rose closed the laptop when someone knocked on her door, and wiped her eyes hastily. It was John. He looked like he had just had his heart broken, as if he was having trouble digesting what he had obviously just seen on the internet, how cruel teenagers could be to each other, to _her_, to a person they didn't even know. She hadn't even done anything _wrong_. John saw her at her desk and smiled sadly.

"You okay?" he asked, trying to sound casual.

"Yeah. Just…doing some homework," Rose said sadly, stifling a choking cry she really just wanted to belt out and cuddle in his arms. "I have a…History paper due in…" John nodded slowly, and licked his lips.

"Regina and me…we're uh, we're turning in for the night," John said softly.

"Goodnight," Rose half-whispered, managing a sad smile. John gazed at her for a minute, then nodded.

"See you in the morning," he said, and retreated, closing the door silently behind him.

* * *

By Thursday afternoon, everyone in the school knew about The Official Rosalie Meade Slam Page. It was all anybody could talk about, and Rose had to sit through everyone watching her and snickering and calling her names, looking at her as if she was something nasty stuck to their shoes. Nobody had written anything on her gym locker today; they'd upped the ante and posted it all over the internet instead. She tucked her daddy's Bobcats on over her running stuff, due to the downpour of rain that had been going on all day, tied her hair into a ponytail and followed behind Aimee and Pearl to the field.

They kept glancing back at her, eyes sparkling with worry, but Rose kept her gaze on the floor; if she raised her gaze, she was in danger of meeting someone's kind eye and bursting into tears.

Miss Smith took roll-call and set out their workout; "Rose, you lead stretches today." Rose nodded, wishing she had chosen someone else, as people already stared enough at her as it was.

"Maybe we could get some tips on your favourite sexual positions?" one of the girls said, as Rose walked past her to the front of the group, to lead in their stretches before they did their warm-up jog.

"Shut up, Jessica, I'm tired of hearing it," Aimee snapped, and everyone glanced at her. Rose just ignored the girls and started leading stretches.

"Wow. My back's a little sore," one of Hailey's other friends, Vithya, said. "Hope I can hold the cradle."

"What the _hell_ is your problem?" Aimee snapped again, and Rose blinked and jumped back when Aimee and Vithya went toe-to-toe, at each other's throats, having a catfight. Miss Smith got in between them and broke it up; everyone was tense and expectant, agitated.

"Enough! Hey! What is going on over here?" Miss Smith demanded; when nobody spoke up, she glanced around, eyeing them each right in the face. "Anybody? Please, enlighten me." Miss Smith glanced between Vithya, Jessica and Aimee. "Whatever is going on between you guys, you need to work it out. We have our first meet this weekend. We've been working all summer for this meet against Spenser." She fixed Rose with a very unforgiving look. "And I don't know what _you've_ been doing all week, Rosalie. Are you with this team?"

_No_. "Yes ma'am," Rose mumbled, keeping her eyes on the floor. She wanted nothing more than to go home and curl up under her duvet while her daddy stroked her hair and made her laugh even though she didn't want to. She wanted her mommy to go and kick down the Farmers' door and wring Hailey's neck; she wanted her to march up to the school and demand a list of everyone who had spoken a bad word about her daughter so she could put them all against a brick wall. She wanted to go home and have a cuddle from Lucia, who _always_ had time to cuddle her older sister when she saw Rose was upset.

"You're sure?" Miss Smith said harshly, frowning. Rose kept her gaze on the floor, her cheeks flushing, her eyes burning from tears.

"Yes ma'am," she said, glad her voice didn't crack.

"Alright then," Miss Smith said, and practice continued.

* * *

Rose wanted to go home. She wanted to go where the sun shone almost all the time; she wanted to be able to climb through her bedroom window, into the tree outside it, and up to Pogue's bedroom. She wanted to curl up beside him on his big bed; she wanted him to hug her, not demanding any explanations until she had had a good cry and tired herself out. She wanted to go home and have her mom and Lucia waiting for her with snacks and chatting in the backyard, their toes dabbling in the pool as they sat at the edge and sipped sweet-tea, talking about their days, showing each other what they'd done at school; Rose's sketches and Photoshop projects, Lucia's finger-paintings and doodles and her kindergarten craft-projects, the little cardboard star she'd made for Christmas with a toilet-paper roll, yellow paint and gold glitter, and the little beaded bracelet she'd made for Rose with a craft kit she'd been given for her fourth birthday; she wanted to chase Lucia around the garden with a water-gun and teach her how to jump-rope and she wanted to spend hours in their mother's closet trying on clothes and shoes and jewellery and bake cupcakes in those outfits. She wanted to make those disgusting pizzas with any kind of topping they could find in the fridge and kitchen-cupboards, peanut butter and grape-jelly, M&Ms, ranch dressing, strawberries, chocolate, bananas, olives, ham, fried-egg, grapes, pickles, marshmallows, pineapple, on the one pizza; she had eaten the whole thing, down to the last Nutella-spread crust, and had been sick the whole night and next-day. She wanted to sit up late with her mom and dad, watching a movie, or playing cards, or bouncing a basketball out by the garage, or go out to dinner at their favourite restaurant, talk to people they knew, who they always saw when they went out for dinner; she wanted to go to a party with her friends and she wanted to go on Pogue's motorcycle down the freeway, tearing it up and just being _happy_. She wanted to cook dinner with her dad and _not_ have her mom already passed out after a bottle of wine. She wanted to _not_ see the looks of heartbroken wonder whenever she saw the parents of Lucia's kindergarten friends; she wanted her baby-sister back to hug and play with and love; she wanted her parents to be as they should have been, whole, happy, in love, and loving her and loving Lucia.

Rose went to the school next day, and then Friday; she went to her classes, and she did her homework; she didn't speak to anyone, and nobody came to talk to her; at the McGowans', nobody spoke to her and she didn't seek any of them out; she couldn't talk to John and Regina, and Finn was avoiding her like she was carrying a highly-contagious hemorrhagic disease.

On Friday, she slinked away from her class as Miss Willow led the Art class to the big gymnasium for a pep-rally to inspire school spirit for the football team. She went to the bathroom and cried.

At the beginning of lunch, Rose went to her locker and opened it, focusing on the combination. She found a note folded onto the stack of textbooks, and knew it wasn't anything of hers. She picked it up and opened it, and tried not to start crying again.

"Hi Rosalie," someone said cheerfully; she recognised the voice as Miss Smith's. "I didn't see you at the pep-rally. That blonde hair of yours is one-of-a-kind. You missed Finn McGowan in a skirt. What's that?"

Miss Smith took the note that read '_For a good time call __**Rose**__ at 1-800-SLUT!_' Miss Smith folded the note and tutted. "Well that's just bush-league. We don't listen to those jack-asses." She peered into Rose's face, closed Rose's locker, and led her away with an arm around her shoulders. Miss Smith led her to her office in the locker-rooms, closing the door and shutting the blinds, and turning a chair towards the sofa on which she had deposited Rose.

She had a _big_ box of tissues and limitless patience, and Rose cried for a long time before she could calm down long enough to talk to Miss Smith.

"L-last year, m-my l-little sister, Lucia…_died_," Rosalie cried, pressing the wad of tissues against her eyes, choking on a sob. "Doctors found out she had a d-degenerative heart d-defect, it was a h-hole in her h-heart, and they c-couldn't do anything about it."

Miss Smith held her hand tenderly, her expression so tender and anxious that Rose could almost see her mother peeking through. That made her cry even more.

"M-men are s'posed to be made of steel, but my daddy couldn't even s-step foot in the h-hospital the last day; my mommy couldn't stay in the room when th-the doctors took Lucy off life-support. But I stayed!" Rose choked, whimpering. "I _stayed_, with my little sister, I _stayed_ with her. I cuddled her up in m-my arms and I kept telling her I loved her…I was _there_ when she died, she died in my arms, she died knowing she was loved—but she died without her mommy or daddy there. S-she said she'd b-be a star, and she'd look after m-me from Devon. She didn't know she was going to heaven!"

Rose broke down and cried, her entire body rocking, hot tears splashing down her face, her mouth and throat burning, her nose running, her eyes swelling, her hands shaking. Miss Smith hugged her tight, the same way Pogue's mom had hugged her after she'd come home from the hospital, that terrible night when that sweet little light that was Lucia went out.

Rose cried into Miss Smith's shoulder, cried in a way she hadn't done since Lucia's funeral, when Pogue had had to half-carry her back to the limousine. Miss Smith rubbed her back and waited, and Rose eventually calmed down a little more to continue.

"Th-then when, when, after the—the _funeral_," Rose choked it out, "my m-mom started drinking, a lot. She was always drinking. She was always drinking, and then sh-she was always in bed, and she always had a hangover, and she was always angry, or depressed, and…and my daddy went to work, and he came home, and he couldn't get her to stop drinking, and I had to cook dinner and clean the house and I had to hide the alcohol from the house, and at Christmas, Daddy gave my mom money to buy Christmas presents—she spent all of it on _d-drink_. She was passed out before eleven a.m. on Christmas Day." Rose dissolved into tears again. Miss Smith rubbed her back and stroked a lock of hair behind her ear.

"Do you want to tell me about the accident?" she said softly, passing Rose another handful of tissues. Rose cried into them, shuddering. She felt like her head was going to explode and she couldn't stop shaking. She choked out a sob and wiped her face, tears falling steadily, but she calmed herself enough to talk.

"I don't know why my mom was driving," she said hollowly, then her mouth twisted and she had to sweep up another torrent of silent tears with her tissues. "The…the paramedics who responded to the em-emergency call from s-someone on the f-freeway said that my mom d-died on _impact_ in the crash, that _she didn't have a second to feel any pain_. S-she had a blood-alcohol level three times the legal driving limit. I don't know why she was driving." Her mother had killed her father; he had been in the passenger seat, and nobody had any idea why he would have gotten into the passenger seat of a car when his wife was so obviously incapable of driving. "And my daddy…My daddy…died at the hospital…twenty-three hours, seventeen minutes and thirty-seven seconds after the crash…of heavy internal bleeding and severe head trauma… H-he was f-fully conscious…" She went off into a torrent of tears again, dissolving into her tissues. "He was f-fully conscious wh-when the emer-emergency r-response t-team tried to cut him out of th-the car."

Miss Smith hugged her for a long time. When she released Rose, her expression was so heartbroken, and so upset, that Rose truly believed she was desolated for her. She tucked a lock of Rose's hair behind her ear.

"So…they left you to John and Regina McGowans' care," Miss Smith said gently. Rose nodded and hid her face in her tissues. "Wanna tell me about the boys, what's going on around school?"

So Rose told her. She told Miss Smith about Hailey bullying her, and giving Evan advice, and the party, and the fight between Doug and Evan, and Rose shouting at Evan, everyone blaming her for Evan and Hailey breaking up, the rumours that she and Evan had had sex; Evan slapping her; kissing Finn; having sex with Finn, someone finding out and spreading it around school.

"And…was this the…first time?" Miss Smith said quietly. Rose nodded and dabbed her eyes with her tissues. Miss Smith let out a sigh.

"Sweetie… Listen to me. You have been hurt, more than any kid has ever been hurt in their life before," Miss Smith said softly. "You've been playing the adult, it seems to me, taking care of your mom, and your dad, when they should have been the ones looking after you. You have acted more maturely than any teenager I have ever met. And you have been treated so horrendously by the students here. You don't deserve any of what's happened to you."

Rose let out a shuddering breath.

"I just thought…if I didn't say anything, if I didn't show how much it hurt to have them talk about me that…that they'd get _bored_, and that they'd move on. But they haven't—they just keep making up new stuff about me that I've never done," she said. "I can't talk to anyone about it because…because Finn and I aren't supposed to be…we weren't supposed to have feelings for each other. Mr and Mrs McGowan would be so mad if they knew what we'd done." Rose cried, a great sense of self-directed disappointment making her shudder with tears again.

"Seems to me like you bottled it all up, huh, so nobody'd be put out, so you wouldn't be a nuisance, or get in anyone's way," Miss Smith guessed, very astutely. "But, sweetie…your parents chose to leave you to John and Regina McGowan's care because they knew they would take care of you if anything happened to them. No matter _what_ happened, you understand me? I know Regina; there's nothing she loves more than her kids. She'll understand, I promise, if you just be a little selfish and ask people to take care of you."

It wasn't in Rose's nature to make a mess and demand attention; it was her nature to take things in quietly, set them aside, and get on with what needed to be done, no matter what she felt, no matter what happened. She was the crutch; she helped other people; she dealt with everything by herself and didn't like making a fuss or having other people put out of their way to help her. But she understood what Miss Smith said, and nodded.

After her discussion with Miss Smith, Rose didn't want to go to cross-country practice, but she did; her last ever. She wasn't going to go to another cross-country practice ever again. Not at that school, not with those people. She wouldn't use running as escapism from dealing with Lucia and her parents. She was going to…to face things, head on.

But first, she wanted to go home and curl up with Pogue and a bucket of Ben & Jerry's…except…she knew she couldn't do that…

She drove back to the McGowans' after practice, and heard an echoing groan from the basement as she stepped over the threshold. The rain had stopped when their run had ended during training; she was soaked to the skin, emotionally lifeless, and looking for something, _anything_, from any one of the brothers. A hug. Maybe a kindly smile.

"Hi guys," she said tiredly, dropping down the last step into the basement, which was a guy's ultimate haven.

No one said a word. Nobody even _looked_ at her.

"Hello?" she said, raising her voice a little bit.

Miller's head bent closer to the page of his baseball magazine. Evan clenched his jaw and stared t the television screen. Caleb started to squirm, looking sad and upset, glancing at each of his brothers in turn.

They were actively ignoring her. And they had brought Miller into it; that was why he "wasn't allowed" to sit with her at lunchtimes anymore. That was why he wasn't sitting with _anyone_ at lunchtimes anymore. Apparently another guys-only meeting had been called, and another freeze-out had been sanctioned.

Rose looked at the floor, eyes burning with tears. She had thought she'd cried enough tears today to completely dry her out for the next year.

"What did I do this time?" she mumbled. Nobody said anything, not for a long time. Then Ian glanced from each of his brothers and at Rose; he flicked his eyes over her face and his eyes widened, then he frowned.

"You got Finn grounded," he said softly. Rose blinked.

"What?"

"Finn's grounded," Caleb said, sounding like he'd been desperate to talk to her.

"_Why_?" Rose asked, disbelieving. She hadn't heard any arguments between John and Regina and Finn; she _would_ have heard an argument between them, since it most likely would have involved her.

"I'm sure _you_ know," Evan said, in a way that made her certain everybody in the room knew _everything_.

"You're blaming _me_ for him being grounded?" Rose said, in barely more than a whisper. She couldn't have made herself scream if her life depended on it. "Are you going to blame me for _everything_ that happens in this house from now on?"

"Finn couldn't covet your cookies if you weren't shovin' 'em in his face, could he?" Doug said. Rose stared at him, then she found herself replying;

"Don't talk to _me_ about shoving things where they shouldn't be, Douglas _Arnold_," she said quietly. "Why is Finn the only one in this family who can take responsibility for his own actions?"

"Uh-oh, watch out. The little girl's gonna throw a tantrum," Doug said, holding up his hands. Ian laughed, but Caleb looked like he wanted to cry, pouting at Rose, as if the only thing holding him back from flying at her was Evan's arm clamped around him as he sat in his brother's lap.

"Don't you laugh at me, Ian," Rose said, her eyes burning. "I am _very upset_. Don't you _dare_ laugh at me. Miller…why're you letting them boss you around? You were doing so well; why haven't you been sitting with Aimee at lunchtime anymore?"

"You talkin' to girls now, dill hole?" Doug said.

"Don't call him that!" Rose said thickly, her eyes swimming with tears. "One day you're going to call the wrong person the wrong thing, and you're going to pay for it. I hope I'm there to say 'I told you so' when it happens, because you really have it coming to you with that attitude problem of yours. You never even said thank you for getting you out of a suspension—or _expulsion_. You and I know if you'd been kicked out of school, you'd have really hated yourself for that silly little stunt you pulled; but you _still_ won't take responsibility for yourself."

"What is that supposed to mean?" Evan snapped. Rose blinked at him, sending tears cascading down her cheeks.

"I am not the one who slept with your girlfriend," she said softly. "If you should've slapped anyone, it would have been her. Stop taking everything out on _me_. None of you is responsible for your own choices or actions; you're a big bunch of whining little babies too lazy to do anything about it but squall and expect everyone else to run around after you."

* * *

**A.N.**: Please review. I was crying while I wrote this! Been a long time since I've written anything this emotive! The poll is still open for Megan's sister's name; Tamsin, Cecily, Poppy, Evelyn "Evie," Samantha "Sammy," or Ella.


	34. Gone with the Wind

**A.N.**: The final instalment.

* * *

**Rose Amongst Thorns**

Chapter Thirty-Four

_Gone with the Wind_

* * *

She was desperate now. Desperate for a kind word, a familiar smile, the bear-hug of her best-friend. She left the basement, silently crying, and closed her bedroom door behind her. She turned on her laptop, went on to the Southwest Airlines website and booked a 'Wanna Get Away' ticket to Raleigh/Durham Airport for 5:30 p.m. departure later this afternoon and printed it out, packed some clothes into a small carry-on bag and found her box of pretty stationery.

She cried as she wrote a long letter to Finn, telling him exactly how she felt about him, and what she thought of his brothers, and why she couldn't stand to be here with them any longer, watching them taking everything they had for granted; she closed the letter; '_If I could have only one wish, I would ask to hug my sister again. That's it_.'

She deliberated for a few minutes where to leave the letter for him; she decided it was safest to leave it in the shed, and slipped downstairs without meeting any of the boys.

Finn wasn't in the shed, for which she was grateful. She didn't know if she'd have the nerve to act on impulse if she saw his soulful blue-grey eyes one last time. She crept into the shed and looked around, wondering where would be the most conspicuous place to leave her letter. In Finn's shed, any place but the canvas was overlooked when Finn was on a creative splurge. She went to the easel and paused.

What he had been working on so secretly the last few days became instantly clear.

Her.

It was a portrait. It was a portrait unlike any Rose had ever seen. It wasn't just a picture of her, a direct mirror-image of her in paint. Somehow Finn had managed to capture her shyness, her sweetness, and her tenacity with paint; he had captured tiny, secret kisses at the corners of her slightly-smiling mouth, with glittered with the same shade of lip-gloss that was her favourite; her eyes were painted of at least a dozen shades of blue, glittering with knowledge, secrets, laughter, and sadness, a few flecks of the most delicate silver striated throughout. Her skin glowed like crushed pearls kissed with sunlight, and her hair was the colour of spun-gold. Memory swirled in the painting, caressing her blonde hair, the curve of her cheekbones, the tip of her little nose: Sadness and longing and heartbrokenness enveloped her in a warm embrace. Even though her eyes were so sad and serious, her mouth was smiling, a juxtaposition and mystery.

Rose had never thought herself beautiful; she had eyes, a nose and mouth the same as everyone else. But now she saw herself through someone else's eyes—through Finn's eyes. She looked…_stunning_.

She reached out and touched the edge of the canvas; the paint was completely dry. He had finished a portrait. He had finished a portrait, _of her_.

_Go_, she told herself.

She picked up her bag, slung her purse over her shoulder, and closed the shed door behind her. She walked over to her truck, climbed in, and drove away from the McGowan home.

Rose had cried the whole drive to Boston Logan airport. The _entire_ way; she had parked up in the long-stay parking-lot opposite the terminal and walked in, found the Southwest Airlines counter and handed over her printed ticket confirmation. She was given her boarding-pass and advised which gate to go and wait by. The woman behind the counter had stared at Rose, concern and unease flickering over her face, clearly debating whether it was advisable to let a sixteen-year-old girl so obviously distraught run away.

Because Rose was running away. She was going to Raleigh/Durham airport in North Carolina, five minutes away from her house, from Pogue.

She sat curled up in a seat by the designated gate, curled up into a tight ball with the Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers soundtrack playing on her iPod and not really seeing the pages of the book open in her hands, silently crying her eyes out again.

If people saw her crying, they didn't come over. They didn't ask her what was wrong, or if she needed any help. They didn't do _anything_. The bag of gumdrops she had bought to eat on the plane had disappeared in minutes. The same with the Kleenex; she had gone through the pack half an hour ago.

She got the life scared out of her when someone gripped her arm, and jumped and stared through tears-blinded eyes. She blinked a few times, silently choking on her cries, and pushed the cuffs of her father's Bobcats sweatshirt into her eyes to clear them.

There he was, standing over her, looking fierce and betrayed and a little hopeless, sweating from having run through the airport to find her.

Doug.

"Where the hell do you think you're going, yo?"

"I gotta sit," Doug wheezed, collapsing into the nearest vacant chair. Rose blinked a few times, uncertain if he was real…_ But why would you have imagined up _Doug_ to come and find you?_ Rose thought. _Doug_ was chasing her down?

"What're you doing here?" Rose whimpered softly, passing her sleeves roughly over her face. She glanced around, dazed and confused, but saw only Doug. "How did you get through security?"

"I had ta buy a ticket, you belee d'at?" Doug said, pulling out a little Southwest Airlines folder. "I can go to New York City now if I want."

"What're you doing here?" Rose repeated, sniffing. She wiped her eyes again. "If you came to apologise, you're too late."

"You wanna bounce, that's your business," Doug said, shoving the crumpled ticket into the back pocket of his doodle-strewn jeans. "But hear me out first."

Rose's lip trembled, and tears splashed down her cheeks; she choked out a hoarse, "_Why_?" Doug stood and switched to the seat next to hers; her crying had cleared a wide berth around her.

"Look," Doug said heavily. "When Finn found that letter, he read out _parts _of it to us. I've never seen him so pissed. Me and Evan, we talked for the first time since all this crap went down, and I can't speak for him, ya know? But me? I realised I been kind of a jerk lately."

Rose stared dully at him. And blinked.

"Kind of?" she said dryly, sniffing, and suppressing a great sigh.

Let me finish, woman!" Doug said. Rose suppressed another sigh; crying was _exhausting_, which was why she didn't do it very often. She wiped her cheeks, understanding what an effort it was taking for Doug to talk to her at all. She waited.

"I was just pissed at you from jump 'cuz you snaked my room. I know it wasn't your fault you came to live with us, but…ya know? But I thought on it and I figured out why you irritate me so much," Doug said.

"I'm glad," Rose said heavily. Doug sighed irritably. "Why do I irritate you?"

"Well, 'cuz you came in there and you did all this stuff, you know? Like stuff no one else can do," Doug said. For the first time ever since Rose had met him, Doug was looking at her and his guard was down. He wasn't sneering or being obnoxious; he was just there, talking to her. "Like you got Miller talking about stuff that's not baseball. And Ian's afraid of you—and Caleb _loves_ you; he'd do anything for you. You've been helping him out at school. Sean, like, occasionally comes out of the garage now. And my mom? She's a different person since you been there. She's, y'know, calmer or something. It's like…having another woman around has chilled her out of something, seriously. She's only whacked me upside the head like once since you got here."

Rose sniffed and thumbed the pages of her book. "You probably deserved it."

"Probably," Doug agreed. "And, I mean…you've done all this stuff around the house, like, we never realised how much Mom and Dad do around the house, keeping everything clean and cooking for us, y'know. You made us all realise how much we take advantage of with Mom. And…plus, what you did for me… That was pretty cool too. I still don't know why you did it."

"You're supposed to protect your family," Rose said softly. Doug nodded.

"Thanks," he said, and Rose managed a smile. Just that tiny word… It was only one teeny tiny little word, but Rose felt that he meant it.

"You're welcome," she said hoarsely.

"So, look, you can't leave,2 Doug said, sitting up straight. "If you do, Miller's gonna revert and he's _never_ gonna tap that Aimee chick. And Caleb's gonna be heartbroken over losing you; I mean, I guess he'll eventually get over you. Ian's gonna ride roughshod and Sean'll go back to being the Ghost Brother, and Evan will just keep being Hailey Farmer's bitch. And Finn…"

Rose's lip trembled and she clenched her eyes, dropping her head into her hand. _Finn_. "What about Finn?" she squeaked. Doug was a lot closer than she had thought when he next spoke.

"Finn will be completely destroyed," Doug said, and he rubbed Rose's arm. "You got that dude all up in a twist, you know that, right?" Rose let a few tears leak out as she clenched her eyes.

"I don't even know what that _means_," she choked.

"All's I know is, he finished telling us about that letter and locked himself in the shed and barricaded the door. No one's seen him since," Doug said. "When I bolted, Sean and Evan were trying to boost Caleb up onto the roof so he could look through the skylight and make sure the kid hadn't slit his wrists like van Gogh or something."

"Van Gogh cut his earlobe off," Rose murmured, sniffling. She heaved a sigh and wiped her eyes.

For a few minutes, Rose and Doug sat in their plastic chairs. Rose slowly turned everything over in her head. She had thought she had just messed everything up when she moved in with the McGowans. Was it possible she had actually changed the McGowans' lives like Doug had said?

"We always thought it was cool that my mom only had boys, you know?" Doug said, for the first time dropping his gangster accent. "Who knew we actually _needed_ a sister."

Rose licked her lips and closed her eyes, pushing her hand into her hair. "You don't _want_ a sister."

"Well, yeah, that's true," Doug said. "You know what I mean, though. We needed a chick around here. We needed someone who wasn't _Mom_ telling us what to do. And I'm pretty sure Finn would be down with being kissing-cousins." Rose's lip trembled and she hid her face again.

"Does everybody know?" she whispered, squeezing more tears out.

"Know? That you and him lost your V-plates together? Oh, yeah, that's old news by now," Doug shrugged. Rose hid her face, tucking her knees close to her chest. "Come on," Doug said softly, rubbing her arm. "It was bound to happen sooner or later, right? I mean…Mills says Finn's in love with you, and he says you're in love with _Finn_, and I kinda believe Miller about stuff like that. He's real observant, you know? I mean…if it hadn't happened after the party, well…you'd have just had a whole bunch more sexual tension to deal with till you _did_ do it."

"That makes me feel much better," Rose said hoarsely.

"Well, you should; at least now you know whether he's worth dating," Doug said, shrugging, and Rose actually laughed. Only a little bit, but she did. The smile slid off her face as soon as it appeared, though. "Hey, at least you didn't sleep with your brother's girlfriend, like I did," Doug said, and he actually sounded repentant. "I mean, can't screw up any more than _that_."

"You could've knocked her up," Rose murmured; Doug's eyes widened.

"_Thanks_," he said, looking nauseated. "Great, man, now I'm gonna be paranoid! So, what, are you gonna come back or not?"

Rose looked down at the floor. Everything he had said…it had been nice, gratifying, to learn that she had helped touch their lives…but it wasn't enough. She was going by Miss Smith's advice and she was learning to be a little bit selfish. If she was going to live with the McGowan family, she needed assurance that she wasn't just Rosalie Meade, "who lives with us." She had to have more certainty than that; she was an orphaned girl bereaved of her much-adored little sister, taken away from the only place she had known as home, and had been shattered by more personal tragedy than was fair; she needed to know she wouldn't just be tolerated but loved, and cherished. She needed to know she could be part of their _family_. She needed to know no matter what happened, she would always be welcome back in their home.

"Come on, Rose," Doug cajoled quietly. "We need you at home. We need you to tell us what the hell we're doing wrong and make us fix it. We need you to help us all be a _family_. And we'll help try make _you_ happy again. No matter what it takes."

Rose looked Doug right in the eye.

"Will you stop calling me Rosie C-Cups behind my back?" she asked quietly; Doug gulped, and his eyes widened.

"I…Yeah," he said, grinning. She looked down at her knees and licked her lips.

"Then I _might_ be able to come back," she said. "But from now on, no more secret meetings, no freeze-outs; you'll stop calling each other names and start treating each other like you _love_ each other; you'll help your mom around the house and stop giving your dad so much attitude. You'll treat each other with respect and be considerate of each other, and remember that family comes first."

Doug nodded, and a slow smile reached the corners of his lips. She had never noticed before, but he was _just_ as good-looking as Miller. "We know," he said. "We'll count on you to be the enforcer."

"Do I get a cattle-prod to zap you whenever you mouth off?" Rose asked.

"It'd need enough electricity to jump-start Vegas," Doug said dryly. He sighed, and stood up, offering his hands. "Well, are you coming?" Rose looked from Doug's face, to his hands, and back.

She cast a longing look at the boarding-gate, saying a silent goodbye to what she was leaving behind, familiarity, Pogue, and gathered her things, unfolded from her seat, and stood up.

"Yeah," she said softly.

* * *

**A.N.**: The End.


End file.
